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One Canadian family's take on expat life in SwitzerlandFri, 10 Mar 2017 01:54:32 +0000enhourly1http://wordpress.com/https://secure.gravatar.com/blavatar/ab2dad8a83088c66d873137b13f35087?s=96&d=https%3A%2F%2Fs2.wp.com%2Fi%2Fbuttonw-com.pngswissblog.nethttps://swissblog.net
Wetting our feet in the Arab World: a beach holiday in Omanhttps://swissblog.net/2015/03/25/wetting-our-feet-in-the-arab-world-a-beach-holiday-in-oman/
https://swissblog.net/2015/03/25/wetting-our-feet-in-the-arab-world-a-beach-holiday-in-oman/#respondWed, 25 Mar 2015 10:48:36 +0000http://swissblog.net/?p=1822]]>Just before last Christmas we did something we almost never do … we went on a beach vacation. Now, ordinarily, lying on a beach all day, sun-tanning and ordering drinks from the pool bar, is not our kind of thing, but after a very busy autumn of work and school for Kathryn and Emma (respectively), they were ready to relax and decompress for a few days before the Christmas festivities began. While I was by no means deserving of such a break, someone had to go along to fluff their cushions, freshen their towels, and refill their drinks, right?

Not a bad view from our resort on the stunning coast of the Gulf of Oman.

Some of the preferred destinations for sun-seeking Europeans at this time of year include Dubai, the Canary Islands (Spain), Sharm el-Sheikh (Egypt), and, further afield, Mauritius and Thailand. Through word of mouth among other expats, however, we had heard that the small country of Oman (on the tip of the Arabian peninsula) was a quiet, beautiful, and low-key alternative to the former hot-spots. The fact that it was Arabic and Muslim added further appeal, as this was not a part of the world we had ever spent any time. And so a week before Christmas we found ourselves making the seven hour flight to Muscat (the capital of Oman) via Abu-Dhabi (UAE).

Oman is a pretty obscure country to most Westerners. While you may have heard of it, you’d be hard-pressed to locate it on a map. So bear with me while I provide a little background. The Sultanate of Oman (its official name) is a small Arabic country located on the far southeastern tip of the Arabian Peninsula, bordering the United Arab Emirates and Saudi Arabia to the west and Yemen to the south. To the north of the country lies the Gulf of Oman and the Straight of Hormuz (which gives passage to the Persian Gulf), on the other side of which lie the countries of Iran and Pakistan (see map).

Oman has a population of roughly 4 million, although somewhere between 30-40% of the population is made up of foreign workers (predominately from India) who work in the oil and gas, construction, shipping and tourism industries. The native Omani population is comprised of assorted Arab tribes, as well as a mix of non-Arabic ethnic groups (Persian, Baloch, Zanzibarian) whose presence reflects Oman’s history as a hub for trade and commerce in the Persian Gulf and the Indian Ocean.

The vast majority of indigenous Omanis are Muslim, most of whom subscribe to the ancient Ibadi sect, which predates the much larger Sunni and Shiite sects. Ibadi Islam is deeply conservative, yet historically moderate and tolerant towards other faiths. Due to its large expat population, Oman also has large Hindu, Christian and Buddhist communities, particularly in Muscat.

Sultan Qaboos Grand Mosque, in Muscat.

Not surprisingly, the country is both politically and socially conservative, although somewhat less so than its other Arab neighbours. The country is ruled by Sultan Qaboos bin Said al Said, who rules with the powers of an absolute monarch. While there is an elected assembly – the Majlis al-Shura – its powers are strictly consultative. Outspoken political dissent is not tolerated and the government has been accused of human rights abuses with respect both to political opponents and disgruntled foreign workers.

A curious blend of the modern and the traditional. Clad in her a abaya, a resort guest checks messages on her smartphone.

On the other hand, Qaboos has slowly relaxed his grip on power and sought to modernize the political system. Women, for example, were granted the right to vote and serve in public office in 1997. Additional political reforms granting more power to the Majlis were introduced in the wake of protests inspired by Arab Spring uprisings in other countries like Egypt.

Like most Arab states, Oman possesses large reserves of oil and gas, which form the basis of much of the economy. Over the last couple of decades, however, Oman has attempted to diversify by promoting other sectors, including tourism, small business, and banking, with some success.

In contrast to the hyper-commercialism of neighbouring Dubai, Oman attracts tourists with stunning scenes like this.

Unlike neighbouring Dubai, Oman’s development has been measured and gradual, thus helping it avoid the commercial excess and boom-bust cycle that has plagued its flashy neighbour to the west. Instead of trying to attract tourists with exclusive shopping centres, highrise hotels equipped with heliports, indoor artificial ski hills and other gimmicks, the Omanis are attracting visitors by promoting the natural beauty of the country’s rugged coastline, high mountains, and verdant oases, and the richness of its traditional, diversified culture. It was this that appealed to us the most. Oman seemed to offer the opportunity to experience an Arabic country without the distorting lenses of ostentatious wealth, hypercommercialism, or violent jihadism through which the Arab world is so often seen today.

We enjoyed a wonderful four days at a secluded coastal resort about 45 minutes outside of Muscat. To be honest, we didn’t do very much other than read books and lie on the beach, with the occasional dip in the pool or ocean to cool off; barely worth writing about really. However, once or twice a day we snapped ourselves out of our lethargy to do something memorable. What follows are a few snapshots and impressions from those times.

Hunting for shells and other treasures at low tide.

The coastline along the Gulf of Oman is extremely stark and rugged. The Al Hajar mountains rise straight out of the turquoise coastal waters to form a 100 kilometre wide barrier between the Gulf and the deserts lying inland to the south. The tallest Al Hajar peaks rise up to 10,000ft. The coastline itself, almost devoid of vegetation, is crenellated with deep inlets and coves, many with wild beaches.

One of our favourite ways to enjoy the coast was by getting up early and going running along the beaches and coastal roads near the resort, before the heat of the day set in. The contrast between the rugged mountains, bathed in golden early morning sun, and the dark turquoise waters of the Gulf was breathtaking.

Beating the daytime heat with an early morning run.

Sunrise on the beach.

Oman’s rugged coastline makes for good snorkeling and diving, so one afternoon the three of us hopped on a dive boat to do some snorkeling in one of the area’s many protected coves. Among the creatures we were most looking forward to seeing were a number of species of sea turtles, including the endangered Hawksbill sea turtle, who are drawn to the area’s secluded beaches for nesting.

One of the seas turtles we found in the Gulf of Oman.

After an exciting ride on a boat fast enough to outrun a Somali pirate skiff, we jumped into the waters off a small island to see what we could see. Here we found plenty of colourful fish and one small Hawksbill sea turtle. We also got a thrill out of seeing the head of a large Moray eel sticking out of its hole in the coral. I went in a little closer for a photo, but seeing its gaping maw and knowing there were another few feet of eel as thick as my arm hiding down that hole, I kept a safe distance. Apparently the Moray eel’s reputation for aggressive and ill-tempered behaviour is undeserved, but I wasn’t about to test the theory.

We kept a safe distance from this Moray eel.

This large Green sea turtle was about a metre long.

A little further down the coast we found another site with a half dozen turtles, including Hawksbills and a large Green sea turtle as well. It was fun to follow along for a bit as these gentle creatures would glide through the water.

Snorkelling in the Gulf of Oman.

While we enjoyed the natural beauty of the coastline, we didn’t get out of the resort bubble much to explore Muscat and the surrounding communities, or interact with the local population. One morning, however, we drove into Muscat to visit the Sultan Qaboos Grand Mosque, which opens its doors to non-Muslims most mornings of the week. Built to commemorate the 30th anniversary of Qaboos’ reign, the Grand Mosque was opened in 2001 and stands as one of the world’s most impressive examples of contemporary Islamic architecture.

Arch near the entrance to the main prayer hall, with the mosque’s main minaret behind.

The Grand Mosque features a 90m high central minaret and 4 smaller minarets, plus a large complex of buildings and halls, all built out of Indian sandstone. The two main prayer halls or musallas – one for men, one for women – have a combined capacity to hold almost 8,000 worshipers. Hovering above the centre of the men’s musalla is a massive 50m high dome. Another building houses the Islamic Information Centre, which features a library and research centre. Visitors, both Muslim and non-Muslim, are welcome to meet in-house theologians to discuss aspects of the Islamic faith.

Main prayer hall and carpet.

The mosque’s interior is equally impressive, with three major features: the prayer carpet; central chandelier; and the mihrab (an ornate niche in one wall indicating the direction of Mecca). The main prayer rug is a single woven piece measuring 70m x 60m and took 600 Iranian weavers four years to produce. Containing nearly 2 billion knots and weighing 21 tons, it was the largest single woven carpet in the world, until that title was recently scooped by the United Arab Emirates, which had an even larger one made for an even newer mosque.

A 50ft high chandelier hangs from the ceiling of the great dome.

Hanging from the inside of the top of the dome is a massive 50ft high chandelier festooned with thousands of dazzling Swarovski crystals. Weighing over 8 tons, the chandelier was the largest in the world until it, too, was eclipsed by a bigger one commissioned by the Emirate of Qatar.

The third and final important interior element is the mihrab, the prominent niche in one wall that indicates the direction of Mecca and provides a focal point for prayer. Here the mihrab is 10m tall and lavishly decorated with mosaics and tiles in cool hues of blue, purple and green, accented with luminescent gold.

The ornately beautiful mirhab indicates the direction of Mecca.

In order to gain access to the mosque grounds and interiors, all visitors are required to observe a strict dress code, with legs, torsos, arms and feet completely covered. Women are also required to cover their heads and necks with a hijab, but a shawl will also do. Footwear must also be removed before entering the prayer hall.

Kathryn and Emma in front of the mirhab.

We wandered the interior and grounds of the mosque for an hour or so, admiring the architecture and craftsmanship. Witnessing the mosque filled to capacity with worshipers, taking in the sights and sounds of collective prayer, would be something to experience.

A final memory of our stay in Oman was a short camel ride that we took on the beach the evening before we left. A local man kept two camels on the beach offering short rides to the tourists. I couldn’t talk Emma into joining me, but Kathryn was game!

That face!

Mounting a camel, it turns out, is a bit of a process. First the man had the camels lie on their stomachs. Then, while he held one of the beasts down by the neck, Kathryn climbed onto the small saddle on its back. Extraordinary and rather rude-sounding noises started emanating from the camel!

Once Kathryn was securely seated, the man released the camel’s neck and its rear end shot up quickly as it stood up hind legs first. Kathryn pitched forward violently and for a second I thought she would fly off the front of the animal and face-plant in the sand. As its front legs extended, however, she stopped pitching forward and was soon smiling while seated high atop her mount.

Because honestly, how many opportunities do you get to ride a camel?!

My turn next: more rude sounds followed by a jerk forwards and upwards, and there we were aloft together. We promenaded up and down the beach a couple of times, laughing at what goofy tourists we were. Our ride lasted about 10 minutes, and that was enough for both of us. Now I can check camel-riding off my bucket-list.

Dressed to kill on our last night in Oman.

Our return flight home out of Abu-Dhabi began with a pretty interesting flight path. After taking off, our Etihad flight proceeded to head west straight up the middle of the Persian Gulf. After an hour or so we made landfall over the coast of eastern Iraq. The flight plan map on the console screen in front of me showed our projected flight path as taking us right over Bagdhad and beyond!

I found myself wondering about the range of Islamic State’s surface-to-air missiles, when our pilot came on the PA system to announce that our flight path had been re-routed north into Iranian airspace. As we passed out of Iraqi airspace I found myself wondering about the fate of those on the ground below, ravaged by senseless conflict for so many years now.

Traveling between such a place beauty, calm and privilege, on one hand, and one of such horror and devastation, on the other, within the space of an hour or two, certainly prompted some reflection on how fortunate we are. Let’s hope that the violence that is convulsing so many parts of the Arab world is resolved soon, before more lives are lost and more of its natural heritage and cultural richness is destroyed.

]]>https://swissblog.net/2015/03/25/wetting-our-feet-in-the-arab-world-a-beach-holiday-in-oman/feed/0glongfordNot a bad view from our resort on the stunning coast of the Gulf of Oman.LightsSultan Qaboos Grand Mosque, in Muscat.A curious blend of the modern and the traditional. Clad in her a abaya, a resort guest checks messages on her smartphone. FullSizeRender_2In contrast to the hypercommercialism of neighbouring Dubai, Oman attracts tourists with stunning scenes like this.Oman 5Hunting for shells and other treasures at low tide.Oman 12Beating the daytime heat with an early morning run.Sunrise on the beach.One of the seas turtles we found in the Gulf of Oman.We kept a safe distance from this Moray eel.This large sea turtle was about a metre long.Snorkelling in the Gulf of Oman.Arch near the entrance to the main prayer hall, with the mosque's main minaret behind.Main prayer hall and carpet.A 50ft high chandelier hangs from the ceiling of the great dome.The ornately beautiful mirhab indicates the direction of Mecca.Kathryn and Emma in front of the mirhab.FullSizeRender_1FullSizeRender_2Because honestly, how many opportunities do you get to ride a camel?!Dressed to kill."This is your captain speaking. Today's flight path takes us over Baghdad before carrying on over the Caliphate. Fasten your seatbelts securely in the vent we encounter turbulence or surface-to-air missiles. I hope you enjoy the flight."The Marcialonga: Brushes-with-greatness at Italy’s most famous ski marathonhttps://swissblog.net/2015/03/10/the-marcialonga-brushes-with-greatness-at-italys-most-famous-ski-marathon/
https://swissblog.net/2015/03/10/the-marcialonga-brushes-with-greatness-at-italys-most-famous-ski-marathon/#respondTue, 10 Mar 2015 17:38:20 +0000http://swissblog.net/?p=1678]]>Here’s another post for the xc ski and endurance sports enthusiasts among you. Back in January I traveled to northern Italy to compete in the Marcialonga xc ski race. I enjoyed a fabulous few days of skiing, sightseeing and soaking up the scenery and hospitality of the Dolomite region, and managed to rub shoulders with some of the greatest athletes in the sport, young and old.

The 70km Marcialonga (Long March) is held in late January every year in the Trentino-Alto Adige region of northern Italy. The inaugural Marcialonga was held in 1971, and was organized by a small group of local xc ski enthusiasts who had recently participated in Sweden’s famous Vassaloppet and thought, why not hold a similar event in Italy? Legend has it that they airdropped 50,000 leaflets over the Val di Fiemme and Val di Fassa to drum up support from the local communities.

8,000 competitors waiting for the start of the 2015 Marcialonga.

Since that time the Marcialonga has grown into one of the largest and most popular Classic style races on the international Worldloppet circuit, with fields reaching 8,000 skiers. The elite field is usually a star-studded group of current and former World Cup skiers, winter Olympians and marathon specialists. On-line registration sells out within minutes each year and it is difficult to get a bib without signing up with one of the many tour operators that bulk buy start positions the previous spring. The event is especially popular with Norwegians, who make up more than a quarter of the field!

Happy finishers of the 2015 Marcialonga.

It’s no wonder the Marcialonga is so popular, the race course is one of the most appealing and beautiful on the Worldloppet circuit. Firstly, much of the course trends downhill, making it very fast. Beginning in the charming resort town of Moena, the race course climbs gently up the Val di Fassa for 18 kms, before making a 180 degree turn at the village of Canazei and beginning a long, gradual but fast 50km long descent, passing through the streets of Moena once again before continuing down the valley.

Competitors race right down the main street of half a dozen towns and villages along the Marcialonga course.

With its mostly flat to downhill profile, the Marcialonga has become one of those Classic technique races, like the Vasaloppet, in which both elite and strong age-group skiers sometimes double-pole the entire course, using their arms, upper bodies and ski poles to push themselves along the track, instead of striding in the tracks using their legs, even on the occasional climbs. The later technique requires grip wax applied to the bottom of part of the skis, which often reduces their gliding speed. These days the top racers can complete the entire course without a single stride, making the race’s name – the Long March – a bit of a misnomer. For many, it is more like the Long Push!

Typical Dolomites mountain scenery.

Near the town of Predazzo the race course enters the Val di Fiemme, arguably the epicentre of Italian xc skiing, thanks to the area’s great facilities and the number of World Cup skiers it produces. 10kms farther down the valley competitors enter the main xc ski stadium in Val di Fiemme, site of three Nordic World Ski Championships (1991, 2003, 2013) and many World Cup races, where they retrace the strides of the sport’s greatest athletes. A few kilometres later they pass beneath the giant Alpe Cermis, the mountain that serves as the venue for the final, grueling hill climb stage of the Tour de Ski.

Looking up the Val di Fassa from Moena.

Alpe Cermis was also the site of a notorious cable car accident back in 1998, in which an American Marine Corp aircraft clipped a cable while flying through the valley on a low-level training mission, plunging a cable-car almost 300ft to the ground and killing all 20 occupants on impact. The ensuing legal struggle over the culpability of the Marine Corp crew, who (it was eventually learned) destroyed incriminating cockpit video evidence, caused a major diplomatic rift between the US and Italian governments at the time.

After Alpe Cermis skiers enter the home stretch, with just another 15kms to go. Racers proceed down valley for another 7 kilometres before finally turning and heading back up the valley to the finish line. There is a big price to be paid for enjoying the long downhill run from Canazei, mind you, which comes in the form of a 2.5km climb at the very end of the race called the “Cascate” – or waterfall – a series of steep, switch-backing ramps that lead 600ft up to the town of Cavalese; and it is here among the elites that the race is often won and lost. In scenes reminiscent of professional cycling, local residents line the sides of the narrow track to encourage the competitors with shouts of “Forza!” and “Dai Dai!”.

For the last 500m racers negotiate the narrow, twisting streets of downtown Cavalese, which are covered with snow, before entering the finishing straight lined with hundreds of cheering spectators.

Breathtaking Dolomite scenery.

In addition to all these distractions, the race unfolds within the dramatic and spectacular scenery of the Dolomites, one of the most rugged and beautiful chains of mountains in all of Europe. One can be forgiven for doing a little rubbernecking in the middle of the race as one gorgeous mountain vista and charming Italian village after another unfolds before your eyes.

Church in the village of Soraga.

For all the area’s beauty, however, Mother Nature was not so kind to the 2015 edition of the Marcialonga, forcing organizers to shorten the race from the usual 70kms down to 57kms. Like almost everywhere in the Alps, the Dolomites had received little snow in the weeks leading up to the race, particularly at lower elevations in the valley bottoms. Fortunately, temperatures had been cold enough to allow the organizers and local communities to make and stockpile enough artificial snow – 100,000 cubic metres supposedly – to lay down an artificial track snaking through the two valleys for over 50kms!

One small section of the 57km long Marcialonga course made almost entirely of artificial snow.

The official start village was moved 13kms further up the Val di Fassa, from Moena to Campestrin, thus removing most of the climbing that takes place in the early part of the race, which got not only the elites but many of us age-groupers contemplating racing the entire course without grip wax, but more on that later.

Mother Nature hadn’t been so kind to my training plans either. While I’d planned many long rollerski double-pole sessions for the fall in order to prepare for the fast Marcialonga course, back-to-back respiratory infections in October and November wiped out most of my fall training. It wasn’t until early December that I was able to manage some light exercise, and it was mid-December before I was really training. By the time I hit the start line in Campestrin I’d logged no more than 350kms of training on snow, less than half of what I had planned. As a result, my race plan was to just relax and enjoy the experience, and perhaps linger at the feed stations a little longer than usual.

My Marcialonga trip began on the Wednesday prior to the race with an 8 hour drive across Switzerland, Austria and down into northern Italy via the Brenner Pass. Driving up through the Val di Fiemme on the way to my hotel in Moena, I saw the race course for the first time: a striking ribbon of white snow slicing its way through the fields beside the road. On and on it stretched up the valley, paralleling the road for kilometre after kilometre, occasionally disappearing into the woods. Coming from North America, where we get excited about Canmore’s 1.5km “Frozen Thunder” loop, the scale of the Marcialonga track was mind-boggling. Clearly the Italians take this race very seriously and are prepared to go to Herculean efforts to ensure that it takes place. With 8,000 participants (many accompanied by family members), the Marcialonga weekend provides the region’s hotels and restaurants with a massive revenue boost.

Picturesque Moena.

I arrived in Moena on the Wednesday afternoon, where I settled into the Hotel Rancolin before attending the introductory briefing by Daniel Sandoz and Tanja Beumler of Sandoz Concept, the Swiss-based tour operators who had arranged my Marcialonga entry and accommodations. Daniel is a former Swiss national team xc skier who competed at the winter Olympics in Sarajevo in 1984, and who continues to ski very fast, often winning his age group at major races.

On our agenda for the next few days was to familiarize ourselves with various key parts of the race course, squeeze in a little more training on the area’s many different trail systems, and enjoy the northern Italian hospitality and cuisine, of course!

Checking out the upper part of the course on Thursday morning, with a few centimetres of fresh, natural snow!

Thursday morning we awoke to a thin blanket of fresh snow, the first the valley had seen in weeks! We met as a group in Campestrin to familiarize ourselves with the start area. From here we skied the upper part of the course, turning around at Canazei and looping back to the start, making for a 10km circuit. The first 5kms to Canazei, at the top of the course, are slightly uphill, but almost imperceptibly so, such that double-poling was easily the fastest and most efficient technique to use. Already I began wondering if I should join those planning to forego the use of grip wax altogether and simply double-pole the entire race. After completing my second trip around the loop, however, my arms were starting to feel somewhat fatigued, which gave me second thoughts about that plan.

Skiing at sunset in the Passo San Pellegrino.

Later in the day I went for a quick drive up to the Passo San Pellegrino, where there was a lovely network of trails laid out on mounds of natural snow, thanks to the high elevation (1800m). I went for a gentle 5km ski as the sun began to set.

By dinner time that evening the hotel was completely filled with loppet participants, with guests from Germany, Australia, Sweden, Norway, and Estonia, among others. I was seated at a table with three Germans and had to quickly resuscitate my high school German in order to make conversation.

The following day (Friday) the Sandoz group planned to meet at the ski stadium in Val di Fiemme to inspect some of the lower parts of the course. Thanks to a few wrong turns on my way to the stadium I arrived about 15 minutes late and the group was nowhere to be found. What happened next more than made up for this little glitch.

As I carried my skis out into the stadium and placed them in the tracks, I saw a skier standing a few feet away from me who looked pretty familiar. Doing a quick double-take, I suddenly realized that it was Holly Brooks: former US ski team member, winter Olympian (2010, 2014), and former World Cup competitor! I knew this because I had a brief career as a World Cup race reporter for SkiTrax a few years ago and watched Holly race many times and interacted with her over email and by phone doing post-race interviews.

Holly jumping for joy at the xc ski stadium in Val di Fiemme. I suggested she save some of that energy for the race!

Holly’s path to success has been an unconventional one to say the least. As a middle-of-the-pack competitor throughout her high-school and collegiate career, no one would have pegged her for success in the sport. After 5 years of coaching in Alaska, however, Holly returned to competition and, to the surprise of many, eventually qualified for and competed at the 2010 winter Olympics in Vancouver, at the age of 28! Holly’s is an inspiring story, particularly for any athlete who is getting a little long in the tooth but in whom the fire still burns. Read more about Holly’s story here.

Holly Brooks, smiling through her interval session.

Holly has been on an adventure this winter competing on the European ski marathon circuit, racing for Team Santander. Not only had she just won the Dolomitenlauf in Austria the previous weekend, but Holly was the current women’s FIS Marathon Cup points leader!

I couldn’t resist introducing myself in person and we had a brief chat about the upcoming race, debating the pros and cons of going without grip wax, as most of her rivals were planning to do. We were both apprehensive about taking that gamble, as neither of us had specifically trained for such a long double-pole effort. Holly was kind enough to pose for a few photos before heading out onto the trails for an intensity workout. I had a chuckle about the serendipity of our meeting. If I had been on time for the meet-up with the Sandoz group, we would have missed one another completely. Brush-with-greatness Episode 1.

F2F meet up with Holly Brooks in Val di Fiemme!

I finally headed out onto the trails, first doing a couple of laps on the World Cup trails above the stadium, then following the Marcialonga course for a few kilometres down the valley for a peak at the infamous Alpe Cermis from the Tour de Ski. In the final stage of the Tour, skiers depart from the xc stadium in Val di Fiemme and ski about 5kms of flats before ascending 425m (about 1400ft) in the final 3.6kms to the finish. The steep gradient averages about 12 percent, but there are stretches of up to 28 percent! As vicious climbs on the World Cup circuit go, nothing else even comes close, not even the dreaded Mordarbacken (“Murder Hill”) in Falun. I was not the least bit tempted to climb it.

On my way back towards the stadium I was passed by 5 male members of Team Santander going in the other direction. Team Santander is a private, Norwegian-based xc ski racing team that includes a number of the favourites for the men’s elite race, including 2012 winner Jorgen Aukland and former Norwegian World Cup competitor Tord Asle Gjerdalen. I wasn’t entirely sure who was whom as they blazed past me in their identical training suits, except for Gjerdalen in the back, who was sporting his trademark Ray Ban aviator sunglasses! Brush-with-greatness Episode 2.

The boyz from Team Santander, with eventual race winner Tord Asle Gjerdalen lurking in the back.

Later that afternoon we headed into Cavalese to pick up our race kits. While standing in line to pick up my bib I met another great loppet skier: 71 year old Liudmila Kolobanova of Russia, an 11-time Worldloppet Master, meaning that she has completed 10 Worldloppet races a year in eleven years; that’s over 110 Worldloppets! Having completed fewer than 10 in my lifetime thus far, I’ve got a long way to go before equaling her stats! Liudmila has also completed over 50 running marathons. Clearly, great athletes aren’t only found at the front of the race. Brush-with-greatness Episode 3.

10x Worldloppet Master Liudmila Kolobanova and I waiting to pick up our bibs in Cavalese.

Saturday, the day before the race, was scheduled as a rest day, theoretically at least. When the day dawned clear and sunny I resolved to take advantage of the surroundings and explore some more of the area’s fabulous ski trails. What the hell, I figured, it’s not like there were any medals at stake for me!

Selfie at the trails in the Passo Levaze.

My German table-mates from the hotel had recommended the trails in the Passo Levaze. Laid out on a high (1805m) and broad meadow, the trail network at Levaze offers a nice mixture of open, gently rolling trails, as well as more technical terrain in the forests. I spent a glorious hour cruising the easy, flowing trails in the sunshine. Apparently Levaze is no secret, as there were hundreds of other skiers doing the same thing. Ordinarily I would find this kind of trail congestion annoying, but that day I just thought it was awesome to see so many like-minded skiers out enjoying the trails.

Great trails in the Passo Levaze.

The question on everyone’s mind during our pre-race dinner that evening was: to grip wax or not to grip wax? With the first 13kms of climbing cut from the race, even us age-groupers were thinking about sacrificing grip for faster skis and simply double-poling the mostly flat to downhill course. After all, we could always pick up a quick-and-dirty grip wax job from one of the Toko wax techs stationed at the bottom of the final climb up to Cavalese. Debate then ensued about whether it was faster to double-pole on Classic or skate skis.

I was sorely tempted, ordinarily being a fairly strong double-poler, but anticipating a finish time of around 3 and a half hours, I was worried about muscle cramping, since the longest double-pole workout I had done in training was about 90 minutes. In the end, I opted to go with grip wax, kindly taken care of by the crack Sandoz Concept wax service team, who applied some witch’s brew of klister and hard wax ironed in.

Marcialonga gear shot (it’s an internet thing).

Finally it was race day! I made sure to get to my start box 90 minutes before my start time, to give myself time drop off my clothing bag and have a proper warm up. The first few hundred elite starters got to place their skis on the start grid, while the rest of the rabble, including me, was herded into start pens of about 600 skiers each. After the elite start, the rest of the field was slowly released from the pens in groups of about 200 at a time. It was all quite relaxed and well organized.

Ready to go!

The early part of my race went very well. I found that my skis were quite fast despite the grip wax, and I was thankful for the grip on the numerous short little rises and climbs that we passed over. It felt good to do a little striding and use the legs while giving my upper body a rest from all the double-poling.

Early in the race we literally skied through a tent, where the locals passed out drinks and snacks.

After almost 18kms of constant double-poling we reached the first (and only) real climb on the course, other than the Cascate. Near the village of Soraga there is a punchy climb about 1 km long and steep enough that only the strongest can double-pole up it. By the time we reached it, the tracks had been completely destroyed and the snow consisted of piles of sugar about 10-15cms deep. Many of the people around me appeared to have no grip wax, so we were all reduced to climbing herring-bone style in two lines.

There was a real bottle-neck here and frustrations started to boil over as a few aggressive skiers tried to just crash through everyone, stepping on skis and poles left and right. One guy took off his skis and started running past everyone up the side of the trail, with a chorus of howls and shouts of “cheater!” following behind him. Shortly after Soraga there was a sketchy downhill run into the town of Moena, where we had been staying, and it was fun to ski down the town’s main street, now covered with a layer of snow.

Skiing down mainstreet.

Shortly after Moena I had a bit of an incident. I was following another skier across a narrow bridge with a sharp 90 degree left turn immediately after it, when the skier in front of me went down hard in the turn, which was glare ice. He and another skier crashed hard into a snowbank. I tried in vain to make the turn but ended up sailing into the heap of bodies, watching in horror as the tip of one of my skis buried itself in someone’s crotch! “Are you ok?,” I asked, as I disentangled myself from the jumble of legs, arms, skis and poles. “Yes,” he replied, in a high-pitched voice. I carried on as the sound of more bodies crashing into that corner reached my ears.

Double-poling through the streets of Predazzo at about the 30km mark was great fun, as many of the townspeople were out cheering on the streets and handing out snacks and drinks to the racers.

More double-poling.

By the time we reached the xc ski stadium at Lago di Tesero I was starting to lose energy and power in my arms, with more than 15kms still to go! Although I didn’t need to use it much, I was thankful for the grip wax. While much of the course was flat and trended downhill, we went up and over dozens of little rises that would have completely sapped the strength from my arms by this point if I’d opted to go without grip wax.

Starting to feel a bit wooden by this point, like these guys.

Yet more double-poling, but fortunately no signs of cramp.

After what seemed an eternity, I finally arrived at the bottom of the notorious climb up the Cascate, just 3 kms from the finish. I was certainly tired by this point, but my skis seemed to be working okay so I skipped the long line-ups at the Toko wax station and carried on. It was only a couple more kilometres right?

Big mistake. About 200m further up the trail, which had gotten steeper, I found I had almost no grip at all and my skis were sliding backwards. I thought about turning back and getting more grip wax, but with a wave of skiers coming up behind me, I decided to just persevere.

What followed were the most painful and exhausting 20 minutes I’ve ever spent on xc skis! I was soon reduced to herring-bone at a walking pace. It was tempting to skate a little, just to maintain some momentum, but I didn’t want to risk disqualification. Before long I was being passed by the same skiers I’d seen below lining up for a grip wax. It was tough to watch them glide past with seeming ease (although I’m sure they were in their own world of hurt).

At one point on the climb some jerk passed me on the left and then cut back right into the track, stomping on the tips of my rather expensive Fischer carbonlite skis in the process. A stream of very unsportsmenlike words burst from my lips (as if I could spare the oxygen!) and I squandered what little strength I had left trying spitefully (and in vain) to ski on the tails of his skis. Loppet rage – who knew?!

Stopped for a photo (and to gasp for breath) on this last steep bit before the finish. This is the exact spot where eventual race winner Gjerdalen pulled away from Aukland and Pettersen.

I was so spent near the end of the climb that I actually stopped for a few seconds here and there in order to recover a little, something I hadn’t done in a race since I was about 14! I feigned a casual demeanor for the bemused spectators by taking a few photos.

At last I reached the top and had just enough left in my arms to double-pole the final 100m to the finish, which was lined with cheering spectators.

Finish line selfie!

I crossed the line in a time of 3 hours and 23 minutes, good enough for 1772nd place out of a field of about 8,000. If only I’d put grip wax on at the start of that hill, I bet I would have cracked the top 1700 for sure! Remove all those genetically-doped Norwegians from the results and I could have broken into the top 1000!

I was actually pretty satisfied with my race, despite the final few kilometres of agony. I finished well ahead of my goal time of 3 1/2 hours and was able to withstand over 3 hours of double-poling, despite my lack of training, without cramping up.

And the winning times you ask? Well, my eye-wear fashion icon, Tord Asle Gjerdalen of Norway, styled it in those Ray Bans and won the race with a blistering little attack in the final few meters of the Cascate, besting Anders Aukland and Oystein Pettersen in a time of 2:05. The women’s race was won by Katerina Smutna in 2:20. Holly Brooks had an off day, finishing 17th in a time of 2:36. You can watch the race in full with live commentary here:

]]>https://swissblog.net/2015/03/10/the-marcialonga-brushes-with-greatness-at-italys-most-famous-ski-marathon/feed/0glongford1510458_10153111375720362_4830274377351081362_nHappy finishers of the 2015 Marcialonga.Competitors race right down the main street of half a dozen towns and villages along the Marcialonga course.Typical Dolomites mountain scenery.Looking up the Val di Fassa from Moena.Breathtaking Dolomite scenery.Church in the village of Soraga.10924776_10153103926065362_5282487728062868791_n10441256_10153103926145362_8835864160469729828_nPicturesque Moena.Checking out the upper part of the course on Thursday morning, with a few centimetres of fresh, natural snow!Skiing at sunset in the Passo San Pellegrino.10931406_10153107004060362_5400230257849974368_nHolly Brooks, smiling through her interval session.F2F meet up with Holly Brooks in Val di Fiemme!The boyz from Team Santander, with eventual race winner Tord Asle Gjerdalen lurking in the back.10891781_10153107771110362_8651945472735568361_nSelfie at the trails in the Passo Levaze.Great trails in the Passo Levaze.FullSizeRenderReady to go!Early in the race we literally skied through a tent, where the locals passed out drinks and snacks.Skiing down mainstreet.Starting to feel a bit wooden by this point, like these guys.Stopped for a photo (and to gasp for breath) on this last steep bit before the finish. This is the exact spot where eventual race winner Gjerdalen pulled away from Aukland and Pettersen.Finish line selfie!Lyon, France: City of Light and Gastronomy (but not light gastronomy!)https://swissblog.net/2015/01/20/lyon-france-city-of-light-and-gastronomy-but-not-light-gastronomy/
https://swissblog.net/2015/01/20/lyon-france-city-of-light-and-gastronomy-but-not-light-gastronomy/#commentsTue, 20 Jan 2015 22:46:14 +0000http://swissblogdotnet.wordpress.com/?p=18]]>One weekend last spring Kathryn and I found ourselves unencumbered by the kids and their sports schedules, so we set off on a quick 24 hour weekend getaway. Our destination of choice: the city of Lyon, France, about which we had heard many good things from other expats. This was also our first experience of traveling with our new dog, Coelle, who had been with us for about a month. What better place to take her on her first trip than the dog-mad country of France?

Lyon and the Soane river, as seen from Fourviere.

At just over 2 million people, Lyon is France’s 2nd largest city; but while it is well-known among foodie-types as a centre of French cuisine, most of us are hard-pressed to conjure up a mental picture of the city, let alone find it on a map. Lyon is located in the eastern part of France, just over 2 hours from Paris by a fast train. Luckily for us, as it turns out, Lyon is quite close to Switzerland, lying about 2 hours west of Geneva. Far enough away to feel like a real destination, but close enough that we wouldn’t spend half the weekend sitting in the car.

Vieux Lyon and Fourviere hill, as seen from the banks of the Soane. The Basilica of Notre Dame de Fourviere (left) sits on top of the hill.

The city of Lyon was originally founded in 43 BC as a Roman settlement at the confluence of the Soane and Rhone rivers, two of France’s largest rivers. Before long Lyon – or Lugdunum as it was then known – became the capital of Gaul, then a province of the Roman Empire, that stretched across much of what is modern France. Overlooking the west bank of the Soane is a high escarpment called the Fourviere hill, and it was here that the Romans built a massive amphitheatre with seating for 10,000.

The Roman amphitheatre in Lyon (photo: Pline)

Lyon is known as the “City of Light,” a label more often associated with Paris. Lyon, however, boasts an annual “Festival of Lights” dating back to medieval traditions. According to city lore, Lyon was spared the worst ravages of a plague during the Middle Ages thanks to the intervention of the Virgin Mary. As a gesture of thanks, inhabitants placed votive candles in the windows of their homes. In the mid-19th century, following the erection of a statue of the Virgin at the top of Fourviere hill, residents again began placing candles in their windows and marched through the streets with candles and lanterns, a ritual that has been repeated every December 8th since.

In 1999 the city of Lyon updated the tradition by holding its inaugural Festival of Lights, held every year on the weekend closest to Dec 8th. The festival features 4 nights of artistic lighting displays and monumental light shows projected onto the city’s most iconic historical buildings (see timelapse video below).

One of these buildings, the Basillica of Notre Dame de Fourviere, was added to the hilltop in the 19th century, with a commanding view over the city. At the foot of the Fourviere lie the serpentine, cobble-stoned streets of old, medieval Lyon. On the opposite side of the Soane, on a peninsula formed just upriver from its confluence with the Rhone, lies the city’s bustling, modern downtown.

Notre Dame de Fourviere, built in the mid-19th century.

It was in the modern downtown core that we found ourselves at midday on a warmish Saturday in March, after an easy drive from Lausanne. Our hotel room overlooked the lovely Theatre des Celestins and its square, where dozens of lotus trees were already in bloom.

We hit the streets of Lyon in search of refreshment, strolling through the downtown with Coelle on leash. This was one of her first experiences of the hustle and bustle of the city and, while she was showered with attention from the dog-crazy French, she was a bit frightened and overwhelmed. After a while we stumbled upon the Grand Cafe des Negotiants, a brasserie and dessert place with rich and colourful decor harkening back to the Belle Epoque. First opened in 1864, the Cafe is a virtual institution within the Lyonannais culinary scene, and we happened upon it purely by accident. We scarfed a plate of local cheeses washed down with a glass or two of wine before heading back to the hotel for a nap.

Grand Cafe des Negotiants, which first opened its doors in 1864.

By early evening we were out the door again, heading across the Soane towards Vieux Lyon in search of dinner. Lyon has long been recognized as the capital of French cuisine, and is home to Paul Bocuse, founder of “nouvelle cusine” and one of the most celebrated and influential chefs in the world. The city boasts over 1,000 restaurants and is blessed with more restaurants per capita than almost anywhere else.

Streets of Vieux Lyon.

Theatre des Celestins at night.

But while the city is now a mecca of “haute cuisine,” its reputation for producing just plain delicious food goes back centuries. Since the Renaissance at least, Lyon has been known for the simple yet hearty fare served up in its many inns and guesthouses, its reputation built through word of mouth and, later, celebrated in the works of writers such as Rabelais, Erasmus and Stendhal, who encountered the city’s distinctive cuisine during their travels across Europe.

In the 16th century, Catherine de Medici, wife of King Henry II, is said to have enhanced the reputation of Lyonnais cuisine after her Florentine chefs further developed and refined a repertoire of standard dishes, which were often served to the nobility.

Lyonnais meats at the Sunday morning market.

Traditional Lyonnais cuisine, or “bouchons Lyonnais”, consists of rich, hearty, and primarily meat-oriented dishes, including sausage, bacon, chicken, and assorted game, with a helping of offal and organ meat for good measure, often served in a rich sauce. Among the more distinctive Lyonnais specialties are “Andouillettes” (a type of sausage made from tripe), “Coq au vin,” “foie gras,” and “Lyonnaise potatoes” (pan-fried sliced potatoes). Think of it as French comfort food, and don’t check the nutrition facts!

Daniel et Denise in Vieux Lyon.

While Lyon boasts many top restaurants, including Bocuse’s own L’Auberge du Pont de Collonges (3 Michelin stars), there are dozens of traditional restaurants serving authentic “bouchons Lyonnais,” mostly concentrated in the city’s historic centre. Daniel et Denise is one of the better bouchons and luckily they had space for us that evening.

The decor was simple and the friendly server showed us to our table, where we sat almost elbow to elbow with the guests on either side. The atmosphere was casual, friendly and festive. Along with our apertifs, the server also brought a water dish for Coelle!

Inside Daniel et Denise.

We started with a “salade Lyonnaise,” which was anything but a light appetizer! Along with the usual lettuce and croutons were sliced boiled egg and chunks of back bacon (“lardon”) the size of your thumb! For an entree I ordered the chicken in a mushroom cream sauce, washed down with the house red. For dessert we split a cheese plate and a creme brulee. I couldn’t resist the dram of Chartreuse offered as a digestif.

Salade Lyonnaise

Sampling the local bouchons fare was definitely one of the highlights of our stay, but I couldn’t eat that way very often without doubling in size! Lyon may be the City of Light, but the cuisine that made it famous is definitely not!

Sunday morning we awoke to a beautiful sunny day, perfect for our planned walk across the Saone and up to the Basillica de Notre Dame on top of the Fourviere. On our way we strolled through a Sunday morning farmers’ market set up along the banks of the Soane, where we admired the beautiful displays of fresh produce, flowers, and artisanal sausages, cheeses and breads; all of which smelled delicious. Coelle’s nose was twitching furiously!

Fresh cut flowers at the farmers market in Lyon.

Happy chickens!!!

Not exactly French, but this paella looked amazing!

After crossing the Soane we again entered the streets of Vieux Lyon, where the climb up the Fourviere begins. While a few roads switchback their way up the steep hill, pedestrians can take a more direct and invigorating route to the top via a series of narrows stairways and paths, some of which are covered, called “traboules”. Upon reaching the top we admired the Basillica and the fantastic panoramic view of the city lying at our feet below the Fourviere.

On the other side of the Passerelle we stopped to admire the sculpture, “The Weight of Oneself,” by the Scandinavian artistic duo Elmgreen and Dragset.

Heading up one of Vieux Lyon’s many “traboules”.

Us and Coelle on top of Fourviere hill.

Too soon it was time to leave Lyon, but not before making one final stop on our way out of town.

Lyon, as it turns out, was the home of the Lumiere brothers (Louis and Auguste) who are credited with inventing the first motion picture camera and for staging the first public screening of a movie, which took place in Paris in 1895. Today there is a fascinating museum – the Institut Lumiere – devoted to the brothers’ contributions to cinema and photography, which is housed in the original Lumiere family mansion where the brothers grew up.

Entrance to the Institut Lumiere, in the original family mansion.

The Lumiere brothers got their start in photography, thanks to their father having established a successful business manufacturing photographic equipment, and which had become a major employer in Lyon by the late 19th century. The brothers worked in the family business and, after their father retired, began experimenting with motion picture technologies, of which there were already a few precursors available, including Edison’s kinescope.

Within a few years the brothers invented the first real movie camera – the cinematographe – which was patented in 1895. Within weeks the brothers shot what is regarded as the first real motion picture, a film of workers leaving the Lumiere factory in Lyon. The movie was recorded onto a 17 metre long strip of film which, when hand-cranked through the projector, produced a movie lasting 50 seconds.

The Lumiere brothers’ Cinematographe, patented in 1895.

After a few months of tweaks and private screenings, the Lumiere brothers put on the first paid public screening in the history of motion pictures, in the Salon Indien du Grand Cafe in Paris. Here the brothers showed 10 short films, including “Arrival of a Train at Le Ciotat,” which featured a steam train pulling into the station at the Mediterranean resort town of Le Ciotat. As the train pulled into the station, seeming to head straight towards the audience, some audience members were said to have leapt from their seats in fear of being run over.

Over the next few months the Lumieres toured Europe and North America with their invention and films, causing a sensation. Thus the cinema and the movie industry were born. How fitting that the history of photography and the cinema should trace its roots back to the City of Light.

Ironically, the Lumiere brothers saw their work on the cinematographe as a bit of a distraction and felt that the medium had no viable future. They soon abandoned their work on cinematography to focus on the family’s photographic business, where they made major contributions to the development of colour photography. The Lumiere name eventually disappeared from the photographic landscape in the mid 20th century after the company merged with Ilford, still a major producer of photographic products, including film, paper and imaging inks.

We spent an hour or so exploring the museum and admiring its fascinating collection of early photographic and movie equipment, including an original cinematographe. The Institut Lumiere also sponsors photography and film exhibitions, and was in the midst of hosting a major exhibition dedicated to film and sport. Just days earlier, the Belgian cycling great Eddie Meryx had been there to introduce a series of cycling films. Merde! Missed that by a day or two.

All in all, we were very impressed with Lyon and hope to make it back another time, perhaps to catch the Festival of Lights. The next time you’re in France, try to set aside some time to visit, you won’t regret it.

]]>https://swissblog.net/2015/01/20/lyon-france-city-of-light-and-gastronomy-but-not-light-gastronomy/feed/1glongfordLyon and the Soane river, as seen from Fourviere.Vieux Lyon and Fourviere hill, as seen from the banks of the Soane. The Basillica of Notre Dame de Fourviere sites on top of the hill.The Roman amphitheatre in Lyon (photo: Pline) Notre Dame de Fourviere, built in the mid-19th century.Pretty decent view of the Theatre des Celestins from our hotel room in downtown Lyon.Grand Cafe des Negotiants, which first opened its doors in 1864.Streets of Vieux Lyon.Theatre des Celestins at night.Lyonnais meats at the Sunday morning market.Daniel et Denise in Vieux Lyon.Inside Daniel et Denise.Salade LyonnaiseFresh cut flowers at the farmers market in Lyon.IMG_3991Happy chickens!!!Not exactly French, but this paella looked amazing!Crossing the Soane on the pedestrian-only Passerelle du Palais de Justice.On the other side of the Passerelle we stopped to admire the sculpture, "The Weight of Oneself," by the Scandinavian artistic duo Elgreen and Dragset.Heading up one of Vieux Lyon's many "traboules".Us and Coelle on top of Fourviere hill.Entrance to the Institut Lumiere, in the original family mansion.The Lumiere brothers' Cinematographe, patented in 1895.gIMG_4107A Praxinoscope, invented in 1877, was a precursor to the motion picture camera and projector.gIMG_4083The world's first movie, "Workers leaving the Lumiere factory," filmed in 1895.gIMG_4082The film "Train entering the station in Le Ciotat" had some audience members leaping from their seats in fright.Taking a beating on Mt Ventoux (in the land of the Marquis de Sade)https://swissblog.net/2014/10/15/taking-a-beating-on-mt-ventoux-in-the-land-of-the-marquis-de-sade/
https://swissblog.net/2014/10/15/taking-a-beating-on-mt-ventoux-in-the-land-of-the-marquis-de-sade/#respondWed, 15 Oct 2014 21:33:19 +0000http://swissblog.net/?p=1626]]>I’ve had some incredible cycling experiences since moving to Switzerland two years ago, few of which I’ve shared on this blog. The truth is, given the choice between cycling in the Alps or blogging about it, I choose the former almost every time, so I seldom take the time to sit down in front of the computer and share a few words and images from some of the truly memorable days I’ve spent in the saddle here.

One kilometre to go on the Mt Ventoux.

Hopefully I can rectify this with a few posts over the next couple of months (being realistic here), which should appeal to the cycling nerds among you, and hopefully others will also appreciate the spectacular beauty of the roads here, and perhaps a little bit of the cycling history in which they are steeped.

Today’s post is about a quick get-away trip to Provence that I did in September 2013 in order to climb the mythic Mt Ventoux, one of the toughest and most storied climbs in the history of the Tour de France. While I went down with quite mercenary intentions of ticking this famous mountain off my “must-do” list of climbs, I ended up stumbling upon a much more beautiful and memorable ride than the Ventoux itself, and had a surprising encounter with a notorious historical figure!

Mt Ventoux, bathed in evening alpenglow.

Mt Ventoux is a high (1912m/6273ft) and quite isolated peak that dominates the rolling, arid countryside of the Vaucluse region of Provence, about 20km east of the town of Carpentras. Mt Ventoux (which translates roughly as “windy peak”) receives its name from the legendary winds that roar over its summit at 90+ kph on far more days than not. The Ventoux’s distinctive white peak, a barren moonscape of limestone rubble that affords zero protection from said winds, can be seen from miles around.

The barren, wind-swept upper slopes of Mt Ventoux (image: RTS Deux)

The Ventoux has achieved mythic status among both professional and amateur cyclists as one of the most grueling climbs to be featured in the Tour de France. All three possible routes of ascent clock in at more than 20 kms in length, with gradients north of 9 and 10 per cent for long stretches. The Tour has come to the Ventoux over a dozen times, and it achieved infamy in 1967 when the popular British cyclist Tom Simpson collapsed and died one kilometre from the summit during the 13th stage of that year’s Tour, as a result of a mixture of heat exhaustion, dehydration, and alcohol and amphetamine consumption (crazy, I know!). A memorial now stands at the site where he fell, which has become a pilgrimage site for many cyclists.

The Tom Simpson memorial lies barely a kilometre from the summit, where Simpson collapsed and died.

Most recently, the Ventoux was featured in the 100th anniversary of the Tour de France (celebrated in 2013) as the summit finish of Stage 15, a monstrous 242.5km long stage won by Chris Froome.

Between the mountain’s epic proportions and storied, tragic cycling history, I was drawn to the Ventoux like a moth to a flame. So, one day in mid-September last year I made the 4 hour drive down to Provence and installed myself in an elegantly querky hotel located in a small chateau in the village of Mazan, about 10kms from the village of Bédoin, the most common starting point for climbing the Ventoux. Little did I know of the chateau’s surprising (and rather fitting) history when I booked my room, but more on that later.

The Chateau de Mazan, now a boutique hotel, but once the home of a notorious libertine.

After settling into the hotel in late afternoon, I set out on what I thought would be a short shakedown ride of an hour or so, just to loosen my legs for the following day’s planned ascent of the Ventoux. A little last minute research before departure had indicated that there was a pleasant ride nearby that lead up and through a canyon or gorge called Les Gorges de la Nesque.

The spectacular Gorges de la Nesque.

Within a few minutes of entering the gorge, however, I knew I was in a special place. The Gorges de la Nesque is a deep and dramatic limestone canyon that follows a twisted, serpentine course for over 20 kms between the villages of Méthamis and Monieux. The road contours along the side of the canyon hundreds of feet above the floor of the gorge, ascending towards Monieux at a gentle grade.

The Gorges de la Nesque, with Mt Ventoux in the upper right (source: the web).

I climbed at an easy pace for a while and enjoyed the increasingly spectacular views of the canyon walls, which were getting bathed in the warm hues of early evening sunlight. Because it was late in the day, I had the road and the gorge almost completely to myself. I was passed by one small group of cyclists in the course of an hour, and encountered just a handful of cars.

Cyclists beginning the descent back down the gorge.

Towards the highpoint on the road one passes through a couple of short but fun tunnels, before reaching a spectacular lookout. From there I made a gradual descent for a few kilometres before reaching the sleepy village of Monieux.

One of the short tunnels along the route.

Here I faced a choice: retrace my tracks back down the main road through the gorge; or take a more obscure road that climbed over a ridge before dropping down into a smaller gorge that eventually connected with the main gorge near the town of Méthamis (or so the map suggested), to make a loop of about 45 kms. Judging by the angle of the setting sun I figured I had just enough time to complete the loop and get back to Mazan before dark.

While the road surface left a little to be desired, I really enjoyed descending this narrow country road. It didn’t offer the same dramatic views as the climb to Monieux, but it had a nice remote feel to it, and I had fun chasing the final rays of the sun as they painted the provençal countryside a reddish gold. While my planned one hour shakedown ride turned into a two-and-a-half hour mini-epic, it was one was of the most memorable rides I’ve ever had.

As I returned to the chateau early that evening something rather surprising caught my eye. As I walked through the main door I caught a flash of the words “Marquis de Sade” in my peripheral vision …. Eh what?! I did a double-take and found myself staring at a dark marble plaque indicating that the Chateau de Mazan, now the boutique hotel where I was staying, was indeed once the residence of the Marquis de Sade (1740-1814), the notorious 18th century aristocratic libertine and author of erotic novels as well as radical political treatises.The term sadism – the derivation of pleasure by inflicting pain, suffering and humiliation on others – is derived from his name.

The plaque on the chateau wall, indicating de Sade’s ownership.

Built by de Sade’s father in 1720, the Chateau de Mazan seldom served as his notorious son’s principal residence, but he spent a great deal of time in the area – where he resided at the nearby Chateau Lacoste – upon being exiled there in the early 1770s after a series of sex scandals. The Mazan property was used by de Sade, however, to stage a series of theatrical productions that were among the first theatre festivals in modern France.

The hotel dining room, where de Sade once staged a series of theatrical productions. If the walls could talk!

De Sade was imprisoned in 1777 and spent much of the next decade writing erotic novels. He was eventually moved to the infamous Bastille prison, where he spent 5 years before being transferred to an asylum in 1789, just days before the storming of the Bastille, a turning point in the French Revolution.

The Chateau de Mazan and terrace.

Finally released in 1790, de Sade became a revolutionary politician in Paris and authored a series of political tracts before crossing swords with the revolutionary leader Robespierre, who threw him in jail again. De Sade later enjoyed a few more years of freedom before being imprisoned for good in 1801, this time by Napoleon Bonaparte. He would remain there until his death in 1814.

The Marquis de Sade.

There is little indication that de Sade ever returned to his family property at Mazan during his brief periods of freedom. The property was sacked and heavily damaged during the 1789 uprising anyway. Nevertheless, it remained in the family until 1850, when it was sold. In the intervening years it has served as a private residence, a school, a retirement home and, finally, the hotel Chateau de Mazan.

The hotel Maitre de, perhaps creepier than de Sade himself.

How fitting this connection and proximity between de Sade and Mt Ventoux, considering the punishment administered by the latter each day on the bodies of cyclists, and the strange pleasure we take in receiving it!

Ready to take my lumps, I rose at dawn in order to get an early start and beat the inevitable traffic, heat, and wind on the Ventoux. To save time I drove the 10kms to Bédoin and parked on the edge of town. I rolled through town as the local cafes were just setting up for the day.

The first 6 kms of the climb to Mt Ventoux were deceptively benign, as I spun up past vineyards on grades of 3-6 per cent, with good views up to the summit on my left. After negotiating the famous left-hand bend at St. Esteve, however, things got serious very quickly. Here the road enters a wooded area and the gradient kicks up to almost 10 percent, where it more or less stayed for the next 10kms, with a few long stretches close to 11 percent! With only the occasional bend in the road or fleeting view to add interest to the climb, there wasn’t much to do or think about except to hold a steady pace and endure.

Not far now!

At km 15 I finally reached Chalet Reynard, a small crossroads after which the gradient eases off to a mere 7-8 percent. After ascending a series of switchbacks the road starts to break out of the forest and contour across the open slopes of the Ventoux summit cone. From here the views out over the Provence countryside became ever more expansive, while the summit’s distinctive white radio tower started to come into view. With the summit now in reach I picked up the pace a little and was thankful for the relative lack of wind, which often plagues riders at this point on the climb.

The Tom Simpson memorial.

Visitors often leave tokens behind. I left a precious Hardwood bottle.

Before I knew it I reached the Tom Simpson memorial, where I stopped briefly to snap a few photos and examine the various notes, memorabilia and tokens of respect that passing riders have been leaving at the site for decades.

It’s a lonely ride to the top. Everyone has their own pace and needs to stick to it.

Onward to the summit I rode, whimpering up the final 9 percent drag to the top. By the time I reached the summit my legs felt like they had taken a beating from the very Marquis himself!

The distinctive white radio tower on the summit, visible for miles around.

Once on top I took a long break to enjoy the view and take a few photos. Other cyclists slowly trickled in, one by one, and we exchanged “bravos” and handshakes. My final moving time for the whole ascent was 1 hour and 45 mins, a far cry from the professionals, who typically climb the Ventoux from Bédoin in an hour and a bit (Iban Mayo holds the record of 55 minutes in the 2004 Dauphiné).

The moment the race was won, Froome attacks Quintana. No such crowds the day I rode up, thankfully!

Speaking of the pros, just weeks before my ride, Team Sky’s Chris Froome sealed his victory in the 2013 Tour by dominating rivals like Contador and Quintana on the Ventoux. Froome crossed the summit finish line first, after a mammoth 242km stage. Fittingly, it seems, on Bastille Day.

Froome celebrates the stage win on the Ventoux, on Bastille Day. How fitting.

Climbing the Ventoux was a stiff challenge and well worth the trip, although I much more enjoyed my solo evening ride up through the spectacular Gorges de la Nesque. If you ever have the chance to ride the Ventoux, go for it, but don’t miss this gem of a ride either.

]]>https://swissblog.net/2014/10/15/taking-a-beating-on-mt-ventoux-in-the-land-of-the-marquis-de-sade/feed/0glongfordOne kilometre to go on the Mt Ventoux.Mt Ventoux, bathed in evening alpenglow.The barren, wind-swept upper slopes of Mt Ventoux (image: RTS Deux)The Tom Simpson memorial lies barely a kilometre from the summit, where Simpson collapsed and died.The Chateau de Mazan, now a boutique hotel, but once the home of a notorious libertine.The spectacular Gorges de la Nesque.The Gorges de la Nesque. Cyclists beginning the descent back down the gorge.One of the short tunnels along the route.Nesque 3The plaque on the chateau wall, indicating de Sade's ownership.The hotel dining room, where de Sade once staged a series of theatrical productions.The Chateau de Mazan and terrace.The Marquis de Sade.The hotel Maitre de, perhaps creepier than de Sade himself.Not far now!The Tom Simpson memorial.Visitors often leave tokens behind. I left a precious Hardwood bottle.It's a lonely ride to the top. Everyone has their own pace and needs to stick to it.The distinctive white radio tower on the summit, visible for miles around.Me Ventoux summitThe moment the race was won, Froome attacks Quintana. Froome celebrates the stage win on the Ventoux, on Bastille Day. How fitting.Road-trippin’ on the Mediterranean: St Tropez, Nice, Lucca, Positano, Florencehttps://swissblog.net/2014/10/10/road-trippin-on-the-mediterranean-st-tropez-nice-lucca-positano-florence/
https://swissblog.net/2014/10/10/road-trippin-on-the-mediterranean-st-tropez-nice-lucca-positano-florence/#commentsFri, 10 Oct 2014 05:30:25 +0000http://swissblog.net/?p=1531]]>Last April we did a 10-day road trip along the Mediterranean Sea, with multiple stops in France and Italy, as part of the kids’ annual 2-week spring break. With planned drives of up to 7 hours, cooped up in the car with two teenagers (and worse, two parents!), not to mention a puppy, we weren’t sure how it was going to go. As it turned it out, however, it was one of the best vacations we’ve ever had together! We covered a lot of ground and visited a lot of places, so pour yourself a double espresso and buckle up, it’s gonna be a long ride.

All together on the island of Capri, just off the Amalfi coast.

Things got off on the wrong foot, however, when we learned the week before departure that Kathryn would not be able to join us for the first leg of the trip, due to some work commitments. Plan B had Kathryn flying into Napoli and joining us on the Amalfi coast for the last few days of our trip. On a positive note, one less passenger meant extra room in the car for my road bike, which I planned to ride some mornings while Emma and Lachlan slept in.

Kathryn and Coelle, getting reacquainted in Positano.

Day 1 involved a six and a half hour drive from Lausanne to the chic resort town of St. Tropez, on the Mediterranean coast of France. The kids and I endured the long drive down through southern France and, despite the boredom, I sensed this road-trip idea might work out when, after 5 hours of driving, we broke out into a raucous version of “Wheels on the Bus,” complete with free-form rap lyrics.

Trapped in the car for hours with these two. Things got weird.

We arrived in the old French port town of St Tropez just in time for dinner, although not before getting stuck in the legendary traffic jam coming into the town, followed by a nerve-wracking drive down cobble-stone streets so narrow that the side mirrors were practically scraping the walls on both sides, while annoyed pedestrians ducked into doorways. Hey, I’m just going where my iPhone said to go!

St Tropez, France

St Tropez is an old Mediterranean fishing village that became a popular resort town and tourist destination after featuring as the backdrop to bikini-clad Brigitte Bardot in the 50s classic film, And God Created Woman. Today, the old-town of St Tropez is filled with restaurants, hotels, cafes, and chic shops. The main pedestrian throughfare parallels the harbour, which is filled with sailboats and luxury yachts.

St Tropez harbour

Flashing the nautical bling in St Tropez.

It glitz and glamour is all rather contained, mind you, and it isn’t hard to escape up some smaller side streets and alleyways to find something more low-key. One of our favourite places was the Place des Lices, a central plaza in the old town that is shaded by dozens of old plane trees and lined with casual cafes and restaurants, the perfect place for an apero while people-watching. We also loved the ramshackle neighbourhood of La Ponche, where we stayed, with it’s own tiny beach away from the hustle and bustle of the main drag.

Place des Lices, St Tropez

Backstreets of St Tropez

La Ponche beach, St Tropez

The following morning I woke at the crack of dawn for a morning ride. I threw the bike in the car and drove an hour west to the surprisingly large and bustling city of Toulon (where there is a major naval base). Here I unloaded the bike and enjoyed an invigorating panoramic ride up Mont Faron, a 600m high Mediterranean test-piece that has been featured in the Paris-Nice cycling race many times. That afternoon we explored St Tropez a little more before loading up the car and driving to Nice, about 90 minutes further east along the coast.

Looking down on the city of Toulon from the top of Mont Faron.

St Tropez skyline reflected in my RayBans.

Lachlan, Emma and Coelle in St Tropez.

Situated right on the Mediterranean, Nice is the 5th largest city in France. Surrounded by mountains and known for its warm, dry weather, it became a hugely popular destination for the British upper classes in the 19th century. The main road and boardwalk that runs along the beach, called le Promenade des Anglais, is lined with Belle Epoque and other more modern hotels. We based ourselves in a hotel that was steps from the beach, as well as the old city. For the next 2 days we enjoyed ourselves wandering around the old city, stopping here and there to shop, eat, or grab a drink and people-watch. Another highlight of our stay in Nice was family bike ride along the Promenade des Anglais.

Looking out over downtown Nice.

Nice has a lovely old city with a busy restaurant and cafe scene.

Like most puppies, Coelle has a thing for shoes.

Fountaine du Soleil and the Place Massena in Nice’s old town.

Family bike ride on the Promenade des Anglais

Both mornings we were there I got up early and rode up into the mountains above the city to explore the countryside further and take in the breathtaking views. The first morning I rode up to the top of the col d’Eze (507m), another classic Mediterranean climb that features regularly in the Paris-Nice bike race. To my surprise there is a tiny, beautifully restored medieval village above the actual town of Eze, sitting on a rocky outcrop overlooking the Mediterranean. Over 2000 years old, the village of Eze has had a tumultous and colourful past, having changed hands many times between the Romans, the Ottomans, the House of Savoy, and the French. Louis the XIV ordered the fortress village to be destroyed in 1705, although much of it withstood the barrage. The discovery in the 19th century of a hoard of silver coins dating from ancient Greece further underlined Eze’s intriguing past.

The restored medieval village of Eze sits on a rocky outcrop high over the Mediterranean.

Eze also has an interesting connection to the 19th German philosopher, Friedrich Nietzsche. It turns out Nietzsche visited the area around Nice, and Eze in particular, in 1883, during a personally difficult time, and found it rejuvenating and inspiring, so much so that he returned every year until 1888. There is a 2km walking path beginning near the gates of the medieval village that leads down to the ocean, one reputedly used often by Nietzsche, and that now bears his name.

The Nietzsche Path descends 2 km down to the ocean.

Walking through a rabbit-warren of narrow but well-maintained cobbled paths, the village of Eze feels more like a museum and than a place where people actually live. In fact, the town appears to be occupied primarily by high-end artisanal shops and elegant restaurants and exclusive hotels, although all very discretely tucked away in little alleyways. Feeling distinctly under-dressed in my cycling kit, I retreated outside the old village walls to the modern town of Eze in search of an affordable espresso. I doubt that gloomy, shabbily-dressed philosophers are too welcome in Eze these days either! My return to the hotel followed the spectacular Grand Corniche road that hugs the mountainside high above the ocean, passing picturesque resort towns such as Villefranche-sur-Mer, before gradually descending into Nice. If you are ever in the area on a bike or in a car, this stretch of road is not to be missed.

The view down to Villefranche-sur-Mer from the corniche road was stunning.

The second morning I rode west, up to the col de Vence (963m), passing through the village of Vence along the way, another medieval gem. Like so many other towns in southern France, Vence has an interesting connection to the arts. Among the artists linked to Vence is Henri Matisse, who lived there during and after WWII and designed the village’s Chapelle du Rosaire. The writer D.H. Lawrence also lived here very briefly before dying of tuberculosis in 1930. Lawrence’s remains were buried in Vence for several years before being exhumed and transported to his home in Taos, New Mexico.

Cycling the arid hills above Vence, leading to the col de Vence.

Tiny square in Vence, ready for the day to begin.

A plaque marks DH Lawrence’s resting place from 1930-35.

The following day we left Nice with a four hour drive to Lucca, Italy, ahead of us, where we planned to overnight on our way south to the Amalfi coast near Napoli. En route to Lucca we visited an ancient Roman monument, called the Trophee des Alpes (Tropaeum Alpium in Latin) in the town of La Turbie.

Coastal view, looking east towards Italy from the town of La Turbie.

Pretty streets in the village of La Turbie.

Commemorated in 6 BC, the monument, which stands over 100ft high and is visible for miles around, was built to commemorate the Roman Emperor Augustus’ military conquest of all 45 barbarian tribes inhabiting the Alps, which was achieved during a 10 year military campaign from 16-7 BC. According to archaeologists, the original monument stood over 150 feet high and was topped with a statue of Augustus.

The Trophee des Alpes, clearly visible (behind the church) overlooking the town of La Turbie.

The Trophee des Alpes.

After the collapse of the empire, the Trophee was damaged and plundered for stone over the course of many centuries. Louis the XIV ordered the Trophee destroyed in 1705, during the same campaign in which his troops sacked the village of Eze. While heavily damaged, the Trophee withstood the assault. For over 2000 years now the Trophee has stood, marking the boundary between ancient Rome and the barbarian territory of the Gauls.

We got a private escort and tour of the Trophee by one of the monument’s kind interpreters.

Looking down into Monaco from La Turbie.

There were few other visitors to the Trophee at the time we arrived and we got a private escort to the top of the Trophee by a museum guide. What an impressive structure considering the time that it was built. On the approach trail to and from, we enjoyed a spectacular view of the ocean and a birds-eye view down into the principality of Monaco.

After departing La Turbie we crossed the border into Italy and spent about three hours driving the coastal autostrada, through Genoa and down the Ligurian coast, before heading inland into Tuscany and our destination for the day: Lucca. We were all relieved to be driving in Italy, I must say, where the food and coffee at the highway rest-stops is top notch compared to France. Road-tripping is made far easier with frequent hits of warm panini washed down with strong, good quality espresso!

A lovely piazza Anfiteatro in Lucca, where we ate dinner.

A little over an hour west of Florence, the city of Lucca was one of the more pleasant surprises on our visit. While we had heard good things about this well-preserved, medieval walled city, we were really only using it as a stopover on the way to Amalfi and, therefore, we arrived with few expectations. Arriving in early evening, we drove through one of the city’s massive old gates and into the old city itself. Once again we found ourselves creeping down narrow, cobble-stoned streets looking for our hotel, while enduring the angry stares and hand-gestures of the many local pedestrians (“Dad, we’re so embarrassed!,” I heard someone say helpfully from the back seat). The fact that we were the only vehicle on the road was a pretty strong hint that the route to our hotel picked by my iPhone was not ideal!

Settling in to a charming little hotel in Lucca.

In any event, we made it to the hotel and after quickly settling in we headed out into the town in search of dinner. It became immediately apparent to us that we were somewhere special. As we walked the narrow, car-free streets lined with shops, the city was alive with chatter and buzz. The streets were busy but not crowded, and we heard almost no other language besides Italian. If there were other tourists in our midst, they were Italian tourists.

We passed many intriguing-looking shops (closed, sadly), and I found a funky cycling shop that doubled as a wine bar at night, where young local hipsters spilled out onto the street sipping prosecco or red wine while discussing the latest upgrades and modifications to their fixies. We found a large, elliptical-shaped piazza lined with restaurants, where we enjoyed a delicious if somewhat chilly al fresco dinner.

Dining al fresco in Lucca

The following morning Lachlan and I got up early to visit the city walls, for which Lucca is best known. Lucca actually has four concentric sets of city walls, the first dating back to 200 AD. The last set of walls, started in 1544 and completed a century later, consist of massive earthen berms up to 100ft thick and 60 feet high encircling the entire old town, with a circumference of over 4 kilometres. While never seriously tested in battle, the walls have served the city as a bulwark against flooding. Today the walls are used as pedestrian walking paths, and the exterior grounds as parkland.

Exterior walls of Lucca, up to 60ft high

Lucca and its exterior walls, 4kms in circumference (source: the web).

We left Lucca that morning, quite reluctantly, but we had a long drive to Amalfi ahead of us, and planned a stop in nearby Pisa to see the famous Leaning Tower before getting on the autostrada.

We arrived in Pisa within an hour and made a lightning visit to the Tower in the rain. The Leaning Tower is actually the separate bell tower or campanile to the Cathedral of Pisa, which stands beside it. Construction of the tower, which took 200 years, began in the late 12th century, and the Tower’s distinctive lean began to develop almost immediately due to poorly designed foundations and weak, unstable layers of soil beneath. The Tower underwent a decade-long period of structural reinforcement during the 1990s. Naturally there was a good crowd and we had to forego the line-up to climb to the top. We settled for a few quick photos and obligatory selfies and were on our way to Amalfi.

The Leaning Tower and Cathedral of Pisa

About 7 hours (and many panini, Cokes and espressos) later, after driving past such iconic cities as Florence, Rome and Napoli, we finally arrived in the seaside town of Positano on the Amalfi coast, our base for the next three days, and where we were reunited with Kathryn.

The famous “Amalfi coast” refers to the rugged coastline that wraps around the Sorrento peninsula, a 20 km long stretch of land that juts out into the Mediterranean about an hour south of Napoli. The area’s ruggedly beautiful coastline is dotted with small towns and fishing villages, some of which cling to cliffs and steep mountainsides. Amalfi is listed by UNESCO as a World Heritage Site for its unique cultural landscape. Sorrento, Positano and Amalfi are among the larger, better known towns and have been popular vacation destinations for decades, if not centuries. In fact, so taken with the area was the Roman Emperor, Tiberius, that he built a series of summer villas on the nearby island of Capri, the largest of which was the Villa Jovis, to relax and escape the political intrigue of Rome.

Positano and the Amalfi coast.

Morning light along an uninhabited section of coastline.

The town of Sorrento, the largest on the Amalfi coast.

I have to admit that Tiberius was really on to something. I found the coastal views spectacular and the setting and views of Positano, in particular, where we stayed in a charming hotel perched above town, simply took my breath away. I’m a pretty well-traveled guy these days, having visited six continents, and I can say without a doubt that Positano is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been.

We spent the next three days enjoying Positano and the surrounding area. One memorable day began with an early morning solo bike ride around the Amalfi peninsula, before the holiday traffic took over the roads. Then Kathryn and I enjoyed a chaotic bus ride full of locals up to the village of Nocelle, start of the famous Sentiero degli Dei (Path of the Gods) hiking path. We hiked the path for a couple of hours, taking in the panoramic views of the coastline. Emma and Lachlan, meanwhile, chilled at the rooftop pool back at the hotel, where they learned all about charging food and drinks to the room (ka-ching!). We wrapped up the day with a shoe-shopping session in town (this is Italy afterall), before enjoying a fantastic meal of pasta with sea urchin and lobster at Chez Black, right on the beach.

Looking west from high up on the Path of the Gods.

With a view like this, can’t blame the kids for wanting to stay at the hotel.

Lachlan, perfecting his “Charge it to my parents’ room” technique.

Positano beachfront and restaurants.

We had such a nice dinner with the kids at Chez Black.

Another day we took an hour-long ferry out to the resort island of Capri, with its very touristy port and ultra-expensive villas up in the hills. From the port we hiked to the top of the island to visit the ruins of Emperor Tiberius’ mountain top palace, the Villa Jovis, which was completed in 27AD. Along the way we admired the many beautiful gardens and grand villas that line the route. From the Villa Jovis we enjoyed panoramic views back towards the Sorrentine peninsula, and across the bay to Napoli and the volcanic Mt Vesuvius. Little Coelle, who was just 4 months old, managed the entire walk up and down the mountain, but lay comatose in my arms for most of the boat ride back to Positano.

Capri, as seen from the tip of the Sorrentine peninsula, on one of my early morning rides.

Emma and Coeel on the ferry to Capri, with Positano behind.

Shabby chic villa on the island of Capri.

Lachlan and Emma checking out the view from the Villa Jovis.

The Villa Jovis.

It got a little chilly on the ferry ride home.

After three blissful days we bid farewell to the Amalfi coast, and to Kathryn, who had to fly back to Switzerland for meetings, while the kids and I steeled ourselves for 2 full days in the car to get back to Lausanne. A final highlight of the trip was a stopover in Florence for the night, where we connected with another Lausanne family, the Trahans, whom we met on the Ponte Vecchio to watch the sunset before grabbing dinner together. Afterward we enjoyed a night-time stroll through the old city, which was spectacularly lit and refreshingly free of the hordes that crowd its streets in the daytime.

Coelle had a puppy playdate with Izzie on the Ponte Vecchio in Florence. Seriously.

What a fun, varied and action-packed road-trip we had! For all our anxiety about what it would be like crammed into the car together for hours on end, this trip will definitely go down as one of the most enjoyable we’ve ever had.

]]>https://swissblog.net/2014/10/10/road-trippin-on-the-mediterranean-st-tropez-nice-lucca-positano-florence/feed/1glongfordAll together on the island of Capri, just off the Amalfi coast.Kathryn and Coelle, getting reacquainted in Positano.Trapped in the car for hours with these two. Things got weird at times.St Tropez, FranceSt Tropez harbourFlashing the nautical bling in St Tropez. Place des Lices, St TropezBackstreets of St TropezLa Ponche beach, St TropezLooking down on the city of Toulon from the top of Mont Faron.St Tropez skyline reflected in my RayBans.Lachlan, Emma and Coelle in St Tropez.Looking out over downtown Nice.IMG_5318IMG_5333IMG_5352IMG_5356The restored medieval village of Eze sits on a rocky outcrop high over the Mediterranean.The Nietzsche Path descends 2 km down to the ocean.IMG_5261Cycling the arid hills above Vence, leading to the col de Vence.Tiny square in Vence, ready for the day to begin.A plaque marks DH Lawrence's resting place from 1939-35.Coastal view, looking east towards Italy from the town of La Turbie.Pretty streets in the village of La Turbie.The Trophee des Alpes, clearly visible (behind the church) overlooking the town of La Turbie.The Trophee des Alpes.We got a private escort and tour of the Trophee by one of the monument's kind interpreters. Looking down into Monaco from La Turbie.A lovely piazza in Lucca, where we ate dinner.Settling in to a charming little hotel in Lucca.Hipster heaven at the local bike shop turned wine bar at night.Dining al fresco in LuccaExterior walls of Lucca, up to 60ft highLucca and its exterior walls, 4kms in circumference.The Leaning Tower of PisaIMG_5617DSC_1239Positano and the Amalfi coast.IMG_5740IMG_5743IMG_5684IMG_5725IMG_5693IMG_5876IMG_5724IMG_5719IMG_5731IMG_5943IMG_5760IMG_5980IMG_6098IMG_6066The Villa Jovis.IMG_6198IMG_6149Now we are five! Introducing “Coelle”https://swissblog.net/2014/10/01/now-we-are-five-introducing-coelle/
https://swissblog.net/2014/10/01/now-we-are-five-introducing-coelle/#commentsWed, 01 Oct 2014 22:24:47 +0000http://swissblog.net/?p=1493]]>By far the most exciting development in our household since moving to Switzerland hasn’t been all the travel opportunities or easy access to chocolate but, rather, the addition of a fifth member to the family – tiny and adorable “Coelle” – our (relatively) new dog, who joined us last February.

That face!

Back in Toronto in 2012, Kathryn and I were finalizing the terms of our move with our two children. Facing tough opponents on the other side of the table, we had already been forced to make a number of concessions (e.g. allowances paid in Swiss Francs, holidays in Italy, unlimited supplies of chocolate). Desperate to close the deal during tense 11th hour discussions, we blurted out: “Oh, and we’ll get you a puppy!”.

That tongue!

As two canine neophytes who had grown up with either cats, fish and gerbils (Graham) or no pets at all (Kathryn), we both quietly hoped that that desperate offer would be forgotten in the excitement of living in Europe.

Not a chance! Both kids filed that rash offer away in their memory-banks and, once we were in Switzerland, proceeded to remind us of that unfulfilled promise on an almost weekly basis. And we are so glad that they did! Coelle has rapidly become (by unanimous vote) both the cutest and most adored member of the family.

Coelle and the family in Capri last April.

Coelle is a Bolonka Zwetna, which is a fairly rare breed of small lapdog with origins in France and Russia, and which is believed to be related to the Bichons and/or Bolognese breeds. Popular amongst the Russian nobility in the 19th century, the breed had almost disappeared by the end of WWII before it began to be nurtured again by breeders in the Soviet Union and elsewhere. This explains the Russian name, which means, literally, “multi-coloured Bolognese,” which refers to the multi-coloured, patchwork coats that some Bolonkas have.

Good dog!

We were drawn to the breed’s typical characteristics, which include being: affectionate and good with children; playful and energetic; easy to train; non-shedding & hypoallergenic; and small & easy to transport. They are also described as an excellent choice for first-time dog-owners (like us).

After spending the fall of 2013 researching and contacting Bolonka breeders in Switzerland (of which there are a couple of dozen, mostly in the German-speaking part), we established a relationship with a breeder in Wetzikon, just outside of Zurich, who was expecting a litter in December. Then the waiting began, first for the birth of the litter and, then, for the day (9 weeks later) when we could bring home a puppy! Coelle was born December 8, 2013 into a litter with 3 brothers. After two visits with her at the breeders in January, we finally brought Coelle home in mid-February.

First visit with the breeder near Zurich. Tempted to take the whole litter!

Coelle, at about 6 weeks, during one of our visits at the breeder’s.

A brief word about the name “Coelle” (pronounced Co-elle). Breeders in Switzerland, and perhaps elsewhere, assign letters to identify each litter that their dogs have (Litter A, B, C etc). Upon being born, the puppies from each litter are assigned a name beginning with the letter assigned to the litter. Hence, our puppy was born into Litter C, and was given the name Coelle (her brothers were: Cicero, Caetan, and Calisto). We discussed changing Coelle’s name to something of our own choosing, but it quickly became apparent that agreeing on a name would be challenging, and we all agreed that we thought that Coelle was a nice French name for our girl.

Coelle (at 10 weeks), enjoying the powder conditions in Verbier.

The funny thing is, when we began introducing her to our French friends, they would repeat the name while looking at us quizzically. After this happened a few times were came to the conclusion that Coelle was not the pretty French girl’s name that we thought but, in fact, a made-up name. It shows up in Google searches as an obscure French surname at best. Oh well, we love it anyway and Coelle she has remained.

Emma with Coelle in St. Tropez, France.

Now, Coelle was an instant hit with the whole family once we brought her home. We couldn’t believe how tiny and adorable she was! We all spent the next few weeks bonding with her through long play sessions and even longer naps. Graham, in particular, quickly got used to three naps a day with Coelle curled up on his chest, and he was soon her surrogate “Mom”. As well, we all learned quickly to keep an eye out for her at our feet, as she had a habit of getting stepped on. Within weeks her full name had become “Coelle Underfoot”!

Nap time.

Bath time!

In terms of temperment and behaviour she has been true to her breed. She is an incredibly affectionate dog who greets every visitor by ferociously wagging her tail, rubbing up against their legs in a cat-like way, and thoroughly licking their faces if given the chance to do so. Family members are treated to the same, whether they have been absent from the room for five minutes or five days!

Coelle, trying to give Lachlan a facewash after football practice.

She seems content to adjust her activity and energy level to ours, so she is as happy to go for a 2 hour hike as have a 2 hour nap. She is also, thankfully, fairly self-sufficient and self-entertaining, so she copes well with being left alone for a few hours here and there, happy to gnaw on a toy (not the furniture, thankfully), or just sleep in her “basket” (our winter mitt and hat box). Mind you, don’t leave any socks or favourite shoes lying around, as she loves to sink her teeth into these as well.

Coelle and Graham did many hikes and trail-runs together this fall, including this one in Zermatt.

Coelle says: “Yup, that’s the Matterhorn bitches”

Now, the breeder did describe her as a bit of a trouble-making “sauvage” whom he would not keep himself, but we only see this side of her when she gets ahold of her rubber chicken toy, which she proceeds to throttle and thrash while holding in her clenched teeth! The frightful sounds emanating from her recall the Tasmanian-Devil character from the Bugs Bunny cartoons (see video below).

Grrrrrrrr!

For a nine month old dog Coelle is pretty well-traveled already. Among her adventures so far have been: enjoying the powder snow in Verbier; walking the streets of Lyon; people-watching in St Tropez; shoe-shopping in Nice; licking the foam off Graham’s morning cappucino in Positano; climbing to the top of Emperor Augustus’ palace in Capri; a puppy-playdate in Florence; a girls’ weekend in Milan (with Kathryn, Emma and Chloe); shopping in Zurich; touring the vineyards and wine cellars of Burgundy; flying to Toronto and spending a week in Canadian cottage country; checking out the markets in Aix-en-Provence; and trail-running under the Matterhorn. Our dog has more passport stamps than your average 60 year old!

Weekend in Lyon.

St Tropez

Shoe-shopping in Nice.

We love travelling in Europe with Coelle, especially in France, where the whole country is in love with dogs and they are welcome practically anywhere, including hotels and restaurants (“and what can we get for la petite chiene monsieur?”). If you happen to see some guy feeding foie gras to a little black dog sitting on his lap in Paris, it’s probably me. No apologies.

Enjoying the view in Positano.

On the Ponte Vecchio in Florence.

Checking out the shops in Milan.

Aix-en-Provence.

Coelle’s best friend is a fluffy little white Coton named “Izzie,” who was born just three weeks after her. Izzie belongs to our friends the Trahan family, and the two dogs love to get together for puppy playdates (seriously, I kid you not, they even had one in Florence!). Coelle and Izzie love to frolic and wrestle non-stop. Imagine two puppie, one black and one white, in a tumble dryer and you get the picture.

Coelle and Izzie at play.

Coelle and Izzie, with Emma and Hadley.

Coelle has brought such joy and love to our family. For the kids, she’s a new playmate and companion who brings a smile to their faces even on their grumpiest school mornings. For Kathryn and I, it has been a few years since we’ve received such enthusiastic greetings when they come through the front door, and with the Emma and Lachlan more and more focused on activities outside the home, Coelle is good company to have around. As we prepare for the empty nest in a few more years, it’s nice to know there will still be a child around to give and receive love once her siblings have flown the coop.

Here are a few brief video clips of Coelle in action:

]]>https://swissblog.net/2014/10/01/now-we-are-five-introducing-coelle/feed/2glongfordIMG_4506IMG_6269IMG_6096IMG_6185First visit with the breeder near Zurich. Tempted to take the whole litter!Coelle, during one of our visits at the breeder's.Coelle, enjoying the powder conditions in Verbier.Emma with Coelle in St. Tropez, France.Nap time.Bath time!Coelle, trying to give Lachlan a facewash after football practice.Coelle and Graham did many hikes and trail-runs together this fall.Coelle says: "Yup, that's the Matterhorn bitches" Grrrrrrrr!Weekend in Lyon.St TropezShoe-shopping in Nice.Enjoying the view in Positano.On the Ponte Vecchio in Florence.Checking out the shops in Milan.Aix-en-Provence.Coelle and Izzie at play.Coelle and Izzie, with Emma and Hadley.IMG_3547Racing the Worldloppet circuit in Europe: the Dolomitenlauf, the Transjurassienne, and the Engadin Ski Marathonhttps://swissblog.net/2014/08/21/racing-the-worldloppet-circuit-in-europe-the-dolomitenlauf-the-transjurassienne-and-the-engadin-ski-marathon/
https://swissblog.net/2014/08/21/racing-the-worldloppet-circuit-in-europe-the-dolomitenlauf-the-transjurassienne-and-the-engadin-ski-marathon/#respondThu, 21 Aug 2014 05:30:51 +0000http://swissblog.net/?p=1459]]>This is a post for my xc ski buddies (who are no doubt thinking about xc skiing – in August). As a competitive xc skier I have long fantasized about participating in one of the big Worldloppet series xc ski races in Europe, ever since setting eyes on photos of thousands of skiers snaking across its frozens lakes and through its alpine valleys. I have completed Canada’s own Worldloppet race – the 50km Gatineau Loppet – several times and it’s a great event; but with barely 2000 competitors over 2 days of racing, it pales in comparison to the big European races, which regularly feature fields of up to 10,000 or more! Upon moving to Switzerland I resolved to participate in as many Worldloppets as possible while I had the opportunity.

Thousands of xc skiers snaking their way across Lake Sils after the start of the Engadin Ski Marathon, near St Moritz.

Having completed the Engadin Ski Marathon (held in St Moritz, Switzerland) during the 2013 season, I resolved to try some new races in 2014. This past season I competed in the Dolomitenlauf (Austria), the Transjurassienne (France), and, once again, the Engadin Ski Marathon. What follows is a brief description of my experiences at these races.

Dolomitenlauf double-header: 42km Classic & 42km Free

My first races of the season took place in late January near the resort town of Lienz in the Tirolean Alps of central Austria. The Dolomitenlauf offers a double-header of racing: a 42km Classic race on Saturday, followed by a 60km Free technique race on Sunday. The 42km Classic race begins and ends near the village of Kartisch and is run over a demanding course with over 2000ft of climbing. The normal route for the Free technique race begins at lower elevation near Lienz and follows the valley bottom on an out-and-back course. In order to justify the 9 hour drive, I decided to register for both! As it turned out, however, the Free technique race was moved days beforehand to the same course as the Classic race, due to a warm-weather forecast and low snow in the valley bottom. Can’t say I was disappointed!

Typical scenery (and weather) for my Dolomitenlauf weekend.

I made the long trek to Lienz on a Friday, driving across Switzerland and the western panhandle of Austria, passing through Innsbruck (host city for 1976 winter Olympics) and Kitzbuhel (site of a famous annual World Cup downhill ski race) along the way. I arrived just in time to drop off my skis for race waxing and do a short recon of the start-finish area before checking into my hotel. That evening I wandered around Lienz, a charming resort town, and watched the last few heats of a city-sprint xc ski race that was being run on a BMX-like course set up in the main town square using a track made with truckloads of snow. Think short-track speed skating, but on xc skis, through the city streets. It was total carnage for the racers and great fun for the spectators!

Charming downtown Lienz

The Dolomitensprints race course set up in downtown Lienz.

The morning of the Classic race I arrived at the site about 90 minutes ahead of time to pick up and test the two pairs of skis I had left with a wax tech the night before. It was a cloudy, misty morning with the temperature hovering a couple of degrees below zero, with a few wet flakes of snow falling. I picked the pair of skis that seemed to be working the best, and then went out for a warm-up ski. About 20 minutes before the start conditions began to change, with a fine drizzle falling and glazing the tracks. Uh oh. Quickly doing another ski test, I found both pairs slipping and losing grip. I was really starting to miss Team Hardwood’s crack group of wax techs at this point! Instead of panicking and trying to make last minute changes (and potentially making things worse), I found that I could get some grip by adjusting my technique. Nonetheless, I headed to the start line anticipating a long and frustrating race.

Waiting for the gun to go off in the Dolomitenlauf 42km Classic race.

The first half of my race went alright, beginning with a 10km rolling section with gradual climbs, followed by another 10 kms of downhill and false flat, where I could do a lot of double-poling. The wheels started to come off around the 20km mark, as the race entered a 10 km section of climbs that would take us up over a 1000ft. I soon found myself with almost no grip whatsoever and I was wasting a lot of energy trying to stay in contact with the group I was with. Thankfully, it was about here that I spied a Toko wax tent along the trail, where wax techs were offering free treatments of all-purpose spray-on klister. I was pretty desperate so I handed over my skis. It took about 30 seconds and it wasn’t pretty, but I was soon on my way again and able to make better progress up the trail … for about another 3 kms, before the wax wore off or iced up (I didn’t stop to look).

The rest of the race was a blur of frustration and toil as I slipped and herring-boned my way up seemingly endless climbs before the final run back down to the finish. I came across the line in 316th place (87th in my age group) in a time 3:28, which was embarrassingly slow, even for such a tough course. Jerry Ahrlin, the great marathon skier from Sweden, won the race in a time of 1:58. I did manage to come in 2nd among the 20-odd Canadians entered, but drew little solace from the fact.

Awaiting the start of the Dolomitenlauf 42km Free technique race.

Sunday dawned overcast and a little cooler, with light snow falling, promising better conditions for the Free technique race. The credit-card wax job worked much better than the previous day’s and I was able to pace myself without having to fight my skis and the conditions. I skied a controlled first half of the race, with a little munchkin nipping at my heals most of the way (see photo).

Got chased by a munchkin for the first 20kms!

I started working harder during the long climbing sections on the second half of the course and found I had good energy most of the way up to the top. Thanks to decent skis I was able to improve on my previous day’s finish by over 100 positions, coming in 214th overall and 29th in my age group (and top Canadian!). Better yet, I improved on my time from the day before by 33 minutes, this despite the fatigue from the day before. All in all a much more satisfying result.

My overall impression of the Dolomitenlauf is that it is a well-run event on a quite challenging course. With about 1,000 competitors racing each day, it is a relatively small event compared to something like the Engadin or the Marcialonga. It’s difficult for me to judge the quality of the scenery on course, as the weather was socked in both days, but the course appears to run through a fairly steep sided valley, and a good portion of it is forested, so it is perhaps not the most aesthetic of European loppets. Also unlike many European loppets, the course runs through no villages, so it is somewhat lacking in the festive feel that other events have. While I was happy to do these races, I’m not sure I will make the 9 hour car trip again anytime soon.

The Transjurassienne 50km Classic

Two weeks later I found myself in France for the Transjurassienne, which features a 50km Classic race on Saturday and a 76km Free technique race on Sunday, with shorter courses available on both days as well. The “Transju,” as it is known, traverses the heart of the French Jura, a modest range of mountains that lie along the country’s eastern border with Switzerland. The region is dotted with lakes, farms, forests and rocky ridges, and dozens if not hundreds of cross-country and downhill ski areas, which explains why it consistently produces world class skiers, including 2-time Olympic Biathlon champion Martin Fourcade.

Typical scenery and snow conditions in the Jura mountains.

I was excited to race the Transju because the Jura mountains are more or less my winter playground. I train in the Swiss and French Jura 3 to 4 times per week all winter, where I have dozens of great trail systems to chose from, including Les Rasses, the Col du Marchairuz, and La Thomasette in Switzerland, and Premanon and Les Rousses in France. Moreover, it’s all within an hour’s drive!

Looking up into the Jura from the Swiss Plateau near Lausanne.

While tempted to do the Transju double-header, I elected to sign up just for the 50km Classic race, as I had devoted most of my on-snow training to Classic skiing up to that point and I wasn’t sure I’d have the legs for a 76km skate race the following day. The Classic race course starts in the resort town of Les Rousses and travels north for 50km to the town of Mouthe.

I made sure to visit the area several times in the weeks leading up to the race and managed to recon almost every kilometre of the course before race day. The week before the race the weather turned warm and wet and organizers began making contingency plans in case the somewhat thin snow coverage started to disappear. Meanwhile, I started to sweat about another possible grip waxing nightmare, although I resolved this time to wax my own skis.

As the forecasts came in the final days before the race, it was starting to look like waxless “zero” skis or “hairies” might be an option on race day. These are skis with a special base material in the grip zones of the skis that, instead of being waxed, are sanded and then treated with either heat or silicon spray to stiffen the tiny microfibres that grip the snow. Zero skis can be very effective in a narrow range of conditions, typically in moist, fresh-fallen snow at about 0 degrees, when most grip waxes are useless. Fortunately I own a pair of these specialized race skis!

Ski testing with Coach Pav near Chapelle de Bois in the French Jura.

A couple of days before the race I took my zero skis for a test ski on the course. I had a special guest that day too, none other than Ontario Provincial Coach, Pavlina Sudrich, who, as it happened, was in the Jura visiting old friends, in between coaching gigs in Europe. I’ve known Pav for about 5 years now, as a fellow club coach on the Ontario Cup circuit before she moved up to the provincial squad. Pav and I spent a few hours skiing together and came to the conclusion that zeros were the way to go (always good to get a second opinion).

On the morning of the race I arrived my usual 90 minutes before the start and quickly tested my zero skis to ensure they were still working. Not perfect, but good enough. I set the zeros aside and went out for a warm up on my training skis. I couldn’t help notice that most of the other skiers were feverishly applying and testing various messy klister concoctions for grip wax that morning, expending a lot of nervous energy in the process. I was so thankful for my zero skis!

My Transju bib

For some strange reason I was given a fairly low starting bib number and soon found myself near the front of the 1st wave on the start line, just behind the Elite wave. Clearly the Transju organizers hadn’t checked my results from the Dolomitenlauf (thankfully!). I was determined to take advantage and get a fast start in order to avoid the inevitable train wreck on the long downhill that comes a few hundred metres after the start. We blasted off the line when the gun went off and sure enough the bodies started flying on the first downhill, which I managed to avoid with a few quick lane changes.

Start line selfie.

The first 10 kms of the Transju course are flat and fast, and the tracks narrow to 2 lanes after just a kilometre or two, so there was a lot of aggressive passing and jockeying for position. I was soon skiing way above threshhold just to stay with the skiers around me and I soon backed off a little to conserve energy. We still had 45kms to go!

After a flat and fast 10 kms the course passes through the resort town of Bois d’Amont, beyond which rises the first big test of the race, the “montee Risoux,” which climbs about 600ft in 6kms, including a 300 foot wall in the first km! It was here that good grip wax was key and my zeros worked as well or better than most skis around me, and already some skiers were peeling off to apply more wax.

Feeling the hurt at about the 45km mark.

After topping out on the Risoux the race course passed up and over a series of forested ridges broken up by patches of open pasture and countryside, with the occasional hamlet thrown in. The field became more sparse and spread out and I soon found myself skiing with a small group of half a dozen or so. We chased each other through forests and across cow pastures and farmers’ fields for what seemed like a very long time before we finally dropped down onto a long, gradual descent that I recognized as being about 5 kms from the finish. Those of us with some energy left turned on the jets and flew down the descent and out onto a flat field with about 2 kms to go. Three of us had a fun but painful double-pole drag race to the finish and I managed to cross the line ahead of the other two skiers (small victories!).

I finished the 51km race in a time of 3:21:30 and came in 153rd overall (18th in my age group) in a field of almost 800. The race was won by the Czech marathon specialist, Stanislav Rezac (a previous winner of the Gatineau loppet), who finished in a relatively slow 2:27:33, reflecting the somewhat sticky, wet course conditions.

Engadin Ski Marathon (Switzerland)

With 13,000 registered participants this year, the Engadin Ski Marathon is one of the largest races in Europe. I raced here last year and loved the beauty of the area and the fast course so much that I decided to return.

This is what 13,000 xc skiers looks like.

The relatively flat and fast course traverses frozen lakes and, after a short rolling section beyond St Moritz, begins a gradual 20 km descent through Pontresina and a half dozen other villages before finishing in S-Chanf. I think it’s the incredible scenery and fast, easy course profile that attracts so many people every year. The only drawback is the relatively high elevation (1800m or about 6,000ft) which, if you’re coming from below 1000m, you definitely feel.

The gorgeous Engadin valley.

Suffice to say that, once again, the race venue and course did not disappoint. I was happy to return to the Engadin, where the sun was shining and the snow was piled 6 to 8 feet high. I’ll keep the race description brief, you can see last year’s post if you are looking for more detailed information about this race.

No shortage of snow in the Engadin valley.

For this year’s race I graduated to the “Elite C” wave, which sounds impressive, but I still ended up crammed into a fenced-in start pen with about a thousand other skiers. When the pen was opened it was a mad scramble to run to the start area, put on our skis and go.

Lining up skis on the Elite start grid an hour before race time.

Conditions this year were colder than last year, with a lot more recent, fine-grained snow, and a stiff headwind blowing in our faces. This made for slower conditions than last year, which I noticed immediately as I tried to double-pole in the set tracks beside the main skating lane to avoid early crashes and save my legs. While this had worked well last year, I found myself falling behind the field this year, so I resumed skating with the rest of the bunch.

The race passed more or less uneventfully, except for the usual bottleneck at the first steep climb after Lake Sils, and the chaos of descending “Mattress Hill” above Pontresina.

Post-race selfie.

I crossed the line in a time of 2:13:34, which was 9 minutes slower than my time the previous year, much of which I attribute to the colder, slower snow we raced on. The time of this year’s winner, Norway’s Anders Gloeerson, was 1:35:05, a full 7 minutes slower than last year’s race. On the upside, I improved on my overall finish (1702nd) by a hundred and fifty places and my age group finish (273rd out of 1759) by over 300 places! I was also top Canadian, although the organizers insist that I am Swiss.

Marcialonga 2015!

I have already made plans for the 2015 season, (although I can’t say I’ve started training). I have registered for the 2015 Marcialonga, a 70km Classic race in the Italian Dolomites that many think is the best loppet in the world! This race features a field of over 10,000 and registration fills up in a matter of minutes each year. I managed to score a bib by hooking up with a tour company that travels to the race. Stay tuned for next year’s report.

]]>https://swissblog.net/2014/08/21/racing-the-worldloppet-circuit-in-europe-the-dolomitenlauf-the-transjurassienne-and-the-engadin-ski-marathon/feed/0glongfordThousands of xc skiers snaking their way across Lake Sils near the start of the Engadin Ski Marathon, near St MoritzTypical scenery (and weather) for my Dolomitenlauf weekend.Charming downtown LienzThe Dolomitensprints race course set up in downtown Lienz.Waiting for the gun to go off in the Dolomitenlauf 42km Classic race.-4Awaiting the start of the Dolomitenlauf 42km Free technique race.Got chased by a munchkin for the first 20kms!-5Typical scenery and snow conditions in the Jura mountains.Looking up into the Jura from the Swiss Plateau near Lausanne.Ski testing with Coach Pav near Chapelle de Bois in the French Jura.My Transju bibStart line selfie.Feeling the hurt at about the 45km mark.This is what 13,000 xc skiers looks like.IMG_3756No shortage of snow in the Engadin valley.Lining up skis on the Elite start grid an hour before race time.Post-race selfie.Just Desserts: Christmas-time in Viennahttps://swissblog.net/2014/08/16/just-desserts-christmas-time-in-vienna/
https://swissblog.net/2014/08/16/just-desserts-christmas-time-in-vienna/#commentsSat, 16 Aug 2014 11:04:05 +0000http://swissblog.net/?p=1374]]>Ok, so some kind of blog update is WAAAAAY overdue. So much has been happening over the last few months, I’ve barely had time to sit down at the computer before we’re up to some new adventure. I will try to catch up by the end of summer, beginning with today’s post about a family visit to Vienna last December. I know, ancient history, but here goes.

While on our way back to Toronto to visit with our families this past Christmas we decided to stop over at a European city that none of us had ever visited before, as a reward for all our hard labours at work and school during the autumn. While there were a number of tempting candidates, Vienna, Austria was top on our list. What better time to visit this charming, Old World city than when it is decked out with Christmas lights and decorations, and the public squares are filled with people enjoying the centuries-old tradition of the annual Christmas markets?

Vienna skyline (photo credit: RMC International)

Christmas market in Vienna

Vienna, or Wien in German (pronounced “Veen”), is the capital of Austria and straddles the Danube river in the eastern end of the country, close to Austria’s borders with the Czech Republic, Slovakia and Hungary. Vienna has a rich history as an imperial city of central and eastern Europe, firstly within the Holy Roman Empire and, subsequently, as the de facto capital of the Austro-Hungarian Empire of the 19th century. Lying near the crossroads between East and West, Vienna twice fended off attacks from the Ottoman Turks in the 16th and 17th centuries.

Kathryn and I bundled up for a horse and buggy ride through Vienna.

Vienna’s role as the imperial seat of the Hapsburg dynasty and the Austro-Hungarian Empire is reflected in the grandeur and richness of its architecture. The city is filled with Baroque palaces, churches, cathedrals, music recital halls and public gardens. It also has some fine Art Nouveau buildings. Among the more popular buildings to visit are the Hofburg, Belvedere and Schonbrunn palaces, the Stephansdom cathedral, the Votivekirche, the Art Nouveau Secession building, the State Opera House, and the expressionistic, anti-modernist Hundertwasserhaus.

Stephansdom Cathedral

Karlskirche (photo: Alamy)

Most of the city’s historic buildings are contained within or lie along the city’s famous Ringstrasse, a 5.3 km ring road that encircles the old city. Built in the late 19th century in place of the old city’s fortification walls, the Ringstrasse is a broad, tree-lined boulevard that is one of the great streets of Europe.

Vienna has long been one of Europe’s intellectual, artistic and culinary centres as well. Among the city’s most famous thinkers are the philosopher, Ludwig Wittgenstein, and the founder of pychoanalysis, Sigmund Freud. Influential modernist artists (Gustav Klimt) and architects (Adolf Loos) also called Vienna home. Without question, however, Vienna’s greatest legacy to western art is in the field of classical music. Among the world’s great classical musicians and composers who called Vienna home at one time or another are Mozart, Beethoven, Strauss, Hayden, Mahler, Schubert, Brahms, Shoenberg, and Berg, among others.

Sigmund Freud

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

Vienna’s culinary influence is considerable as well. While justly famous as the birthplace of Austria’s national dish, Wiener Schnitzel, Vienna is best known for its pastries and desserts, including Apfelstrudl (apple strudel) and Sachertorte. So influential is the Viennese tradition of pastry-making that in many parts of Europe desserts are simply called “les Viennoise”.

Tucking into a Wiener schnitzel the size of a dinner plate, literally!

With all of this to appreciate in just 3 days, we wasted no time in hitting the streets to explore the old city as soon as we arrived on a Thursday afternoon. What follows are some highlights and impressions from our visit. First of all, much of each day was spent wandering the streets of the old city while moving between museums, palaces, shopping venues, cafes and restaurants. As expected, the streets and shop windows of the old city were festooned with Christmas lights and decorations, which really came alive at night. We were also struck by how walkable and human the old city was in scale, as compared to other grand cities such as Paris and London. Most of the major attractions within the Ringstrasse were within 20 minutes walking distance of one another, with good cafes conveniently located between them for refreshment stops and to escape the chill air.

One of the many beautiful Christmas light displays around the city.

One of our first destinations was the Belvedere Palaces, two spectacular Baroque palaces built in the early 18th century as a summer residence for the Hapsburg general Prince Eugene of Savoy, who turned back a Turkish invasion in 1683 (nice perk!).

Upper Belvedere Palace

Now the home of the Austrian National Museum, the Upper Belvedere houses a permanent collection of paintings by renowned Austrian artists such as Gustav Klimt and his protege Egon Schiele, as well as works by foreign masters including Monet and Jacques-Louis Davide. A special room is set aside for a handful of works by Klimt, in particular, including his most famous work, The Kiss, which he painted in 1909.

Klimt’s most famous work: The Kiss (1909)

Schiele’s “Pair Embracing” (1917)

Another day we took in the Hofburg Palace, historical residence of the Hapsburg monarchs, which today houses the offices of the Austrian President, as well as state rooms, museums, and the Austrian National Library. Among the exhibits and museums we explored were the Imperial Apartments of Emperor Franz Josef (1830-1916) and his wife Princess Elisabeth (aka “Sisi”).

The Hofburg Palace

Along with a series of lavish state rooms and apartments (apparently kept as they were during Franz Josef’s reign), the museum displays the imperial silverware, gold table decorations, and porcelain plates and serving dishes used during imperial state functions. Room after room filled with lavish dinnerware, including gold candelabras and serving platters. It was all a little obscene after a while, but you have to admire the craftsmanship.

Gold table service used for state functions.

Another wing displays the private effects and apartments of Sisi, adored (supposedly) by her subjects at the time, and still the subject of fascination and admiration among Austrians today. Sisi is credited with contributing to much of her husband’s success as a ruler, but she later became a reclusive, tragic figure who suffered bouts of depression after the suicide of their son Prince Rudolph. Henceforth dressed always in black and seldom appearing in public, she became obsessive about her looks and adopted a strict regimen of fasting and physical training. Her public, meanwhile, became increasingly fascinated by her infrequent appearances, paying minute attention to her wardrobe, state of mind, and her health; anticipating by decades the cult of celebrity that enveloped female movie and TV stars of the 20th century. Her assassination in 1898 by an Italian anarchist, moments after stepping off a ferry in Geneva, only added to her tragic mystique.

Empress Elizabeth (aka Sisi)

By far our favourite wing of the Hofburg Palace was the Austrian National Library, a grand old library with 100ft high ceilings, massive wood-paneled bookcases, marble floors, and a lovely cupola in the ceiling. The rooms were filled with dusty tomes, large globes, and other historical memorabilia. It makes a powerful impression when you first walk in, like entering a St Peter’s Basillica devoted to the book.

The incredible interior of the Austrian National Library.

The other palace building we visited was the Baroque era winter practice hall of the Spanish Riding School, built in 1735, which houses the famous Lipizzaner stallions, descendents of Spanish-bred horses first brought to the Austrian court in 1580! The equestrian school here has a history dating back almost 450 years. Today the School’s 72 stallions and 20 riders undergo strict training in dressage and perform regularly for visitors and tourists. Granted, the building and the horses are beautiful, but unless one has an appreciation of the finer points of dressage steps, such as the “piaffe” and the “travers”, I would skip the pricey show that the School puts on. We found it tedious within the first 30 minutes of a 90 minute show.

Giddyup!

Another building worth visiting is the State Opera House , or Staatsoper. This lavish opera house was originally built in the mid-19th century and is filled with grand marble staircases, ornate decor, and beautiful chandeliers.

Vienna Staatsoper

One of the hundreds of chandeliers in the Staatsoper.

In addition to visiting the main auditorium, which seats over 2000 and is lined with deluxe box seats, we got a sneak peak backstage where a crew was grappling with the massive sets for a production of Wagner’s Tristan and Isolde. The one unpleasant aspect of a trip to the Staatsoper is having to navigate through the throng of aggressive ticket-hawkers outside who sell tickets to a bewildering array of various musical performances around the city, none of which take place in the Staatsoper itself. What a nuisance they are!

Backstage at the Staatsoper.

Box seats at the Staatsoper.

Another lovely building is the Musikverein, a lavish 19th century concert hall that is home to the Vienna Philharmonic. We took in a concert by a string ensemble one evening in the lovely Brahms hall.

The Musikverein.

A string ensemble performs at the Musikverein.

Another day we focused on visiting the living quarters of two famous Vienna residents: Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart and Sigmund Freud. Located in the heart of the old town, the Mozarthaus consists of a museum dedicated to the famous musician and composer, one that incorporates a series of rooms in which Mozart and his family lived from 1784 until 1787. Mozart lived in Vienna from 1781 until his untimely death in 1791, working as a freelance performer and composing on commission. It was during his years in Vienna that he produced some of his best known works, including the operas The Marriage of Figaro, Don Giovanni and The Magic Flute. There is an interesting museum here with lots of interesting artifacts, including musical scores, period clothing, and Mozart’s death mask. None of the original furnishings from his apartment remain, however, so it takes some imagination to picture he and his family in the 4-room apartment that visitors can walk through.

A draft of one of Mozart’s musical scores.

On the outskirts of the old town, near the Ringstrasse, we also visited the Sigmund Freud Museum. A large rowhouse at Berggasse 19 is where the founder of psychoanalysis lived and practiced from 1891, until he and his family were forced to flee Nazi persecution in 1938.

The Sigmund Freud Museum at Berggasse 19.

Beginning in the 1970s the family apartment, waiting rooms, and office began to be restored with some original furnishings from the family, and it has now become a fully-fledged museum, research institute and exhibition space. It was strange to sit in the same room where once sat patients such as “Wolfman” and “Ratman,” waiting for their regular sessions with Doctor Freud. Sadly, however, few of the original office furnishings remain, most notably Freud’s famous couch, which still sits in the London home where he lived in exile after leaving Vienna, and which is now a museum as well.

The waiting room, more or less as it was during Freud’s time here.

Also on display at the museum at the time of our visit was a series of very intimate photographs of the late British painter, Lucien Freud, at work in his studio. The latter Freud, who was Sigmund Freud’s grandson, was one of the UK’s most celebrated artists of the 20th century. He died in 2011 at the age of 88.

Photograph of Lucien Freud at work.

All of the walking and museum visits made us hungry and thirsty, of course. Thankfully, Vienna is blessed with some amazing coffee houses where delicious refreshments and snacks are readily available, served up with a dose of history. Unlike most North American and even some European cities, Starbucks has a very low-profile presence here. Instead one finds a host of traditional cafes serving coffee, light meals and, of course, desserts. Usually housed in some ornate, historic building, the traditional Viennese coffee house features plush seating, chandeliers, and efficient, crisply dressed waiters.

The Cafe Central, frequented by Lenin, Trotsky, Freud and Hitler, among others.

The bohemian coffee house of 19th and early 20th century Europe was an important social and political institution, where artists, intellectuals, and subversives gathered to argue, gossip and plot revolution. Vienna had as lively a coffee house culture as any European city and many of its most famous cafes from that period remain open today, including the Cafe Demel (1786) , Cafe Mozart (1794), and the Cafe Central (1876). The Cafe Central, for example, was a focal point for Europe’s artistic, intellectual and revolutionary elite in the early 20th century. In January 1913 alone the Cafe Central was patronized by Freud, Tito, Hitler, Lenin and Trotsky! Perhaps this suggests that the role of sugar and caffeine has been grossly underestimated as engines of history. We made sure to visit all three of these historic cafes during the course of our stay, although we didn’t plot anything more serious than where to eat dinner that night!

Dessert case at Cafe Central.

While Vienna has some fine cuisine to offer (including Wiener schnitzel the size of a dinner plate!), it’s all just a prelude to the main course – dessert!!! Vienna is home to some of the finest dessert creations in the world. Thanks to the intense competition among the bakers at the city’s coffee houses, there are dozens of different cakes and confections to fatten oneself on. The grandaddy of them all is the famous Sachertorte (pronounced “zaccertortuh”), named after the baker, Franz Sacher (who developed the recipe for Austrian Prince Metternich back in 1832). The recipe has changed little since then: dense chocolate cake coated with a thin layer of apricot jam, then topped with dark chocolate icing and served with a dollop of “Schlagsahne” (whipped cream). Franz’s son Eduard opened the now 5-star Sacher Hotel in 1876, where the Sachertorte has been made by hand and served daily ever since. The Sacher Hotel was a little out of our snack bracket, so we settled for dessert and coffee at the lively cafe/bar attached to the hotel, where we all enjoyed a taste of this famous treat.

The famous Sachertorte with Schlagsahne

Among the more traditional desserts, the Viennese make incredible “Apfelstrudel” (apple strudel). “Strudel,” as it happens, means “whirlpool” or “vortex” in German, referring to the swirling layers of apple and dough one sees when a strudel is cut and served in cross sections. Thinly sliced apples, raisins, butter, lemon juice, apricot jam; these are the typical ingredients that go onto a thin pastry dough before it is rolled into a log to be baked and then cut into mouthwatering slabs … what’s not to love? Better yet, the Viennese like their strudel THICK; each piece comes 5-10cm high, more like a meal in itself rather than a dessert.

Apfelstrudl

Then there are the more exotic and eye-catching patisserie, including a host of multi-layered torte, such as the Esterhazy, Dobos, and Schwarzwalder varieties, many of which originated in Hungary. These confections feature half a dozen or more layers of sponge cake or pastry with layers of buttercream and/or jam in between, topped with colourful glazes with intricate patterns.

Esterhazey torte

One of the more unusual desserts I tried was something called “Gesztenyepure”, also known as a Mont Blanc. Served in a variety of ways, the Gesztenyepure consists primarily of a pile of what looks like whole wheat spaghetti noodles. After noticing this odd-looking dessert in a number of cafes I finally decided to give it a try. The “spaghetti”, it turns out, is made of sweetened chestnut puree (a staple of Austrian desserts that was borrowed from neighbouring Hungary), that are extruded in noodle form. I can’t say it was my favourite, but if you don’t like chocolate or anything too sweet, give it a try.

Gesztenyepure and Gluhwein at the Cafe Mozart.

Saving the best for last, the most anticipated aspect of our stay in Vienna was visiting the city’s Christmas markets, or “Weihnachtsmarkten”. Christmas markets pop up in cities all over Europe in the weeks leading up to Christmas Day and are popular with residents and tourists alike. Usually located in public squares and parks, the markets feature dazzling lights and Christmas decorations and dozens if not hundreds of stalls selling handicrafts, baked goods, sausages and other local delicacies and, of course, cold beer and hot mulled wine (“gluhwein” in German, “vin chaud” in French). Normally open for a few hours each evening, the markets are a popular and festive place for crowds to gather.

The Christmas market in front of the Rathaus (City Hall) in Vienna was our favourite.

The tradition of the Christmas market has its roots in Germany, Austria and parts of France, where they were first held in the late Middle Ages. Cities such as Frankfurt, Munich, Nuremburg, Colmar and Strasburg have held markets for over 500 years. Vienna’s Weihnachtsmarkt is one of Europe’s oldest, with records of a “December market” dating back to 1294AD!

Enjoying some Christmas gluhwein (some more than others apparently!)

Larger cities often host more than one market. In Vienna’s case, we had at least a half dozen to chose from and we made sure to sample 3 or 4 during our stay. Our favourites were the markets at the Karlskirche and the Rathaus (City Hall). We spent an hour or two most evenings wandering the stalls, picking up last minute Christmas gifts, while sampling the local bratwurst, gingerbread cookies, beer and gluhwein. The good markets were usually packed with people in a celebratory mood. Rubbing shoulders with the crowds was also a handy way of keeping warm from the cold breeze that seemed to blow through the city during most of our visit.

And with that we concluded our whirlwind visit to Vienna. Already laiden with an extra pound or two around our waists (thanks to all the bratwurst and dessert), we carried on to Toronto to catch up with family and friends over the Christmas holiday, with little inkling of the cancelled flight, lost luggage, ice storm and power failure awaiting us, but that’s another story.

Some video highlights of our visit:

]]>https://swissblog.net/2014/08/16/just-desserts-christmas-time-in-vienna/feed/1glongfordVienna skyline (photo credit: RMC International)Christmas market in ViennaKathryn and I bundled up for a horse and buggy ride. Stephansdom CathedralKarlskirche (photo: Alamy)Sigmund FreudWolfgang Amadeus MozartTucking into a Wiener schnitzel the size of a dinner plate, literally!One of the many beautiful Christmas light displays around the city.IMG_1769IMG_3984Belvedere Palace800px-Gustav_Klimt_016Schiele's "Pair Embracing"The Hofburg PalaceGold table service used for state functions.Empress Elizabeth (aka Sisi)The incredible interior of the Austrian National Library.IMG_1850Vienna StaatsoperOne of the hundreds of chandeliers in the Staatsoper.Backstage at the Staatsoper.Box seats at the Staatsoper.The Musikverein.A string ensemble performs at the Musikverein.A draft of one of Mozart's musical scores.The Sigmund Freud Museum at 19 Bergstrasse.The waiting room, more or less as it was during Freud's time here.Photograph of Lucien Freud at work. The Cafe Centrale, where Stalin, Trotsky, Freud and Hitler once took refreshment all in the same month.Dessert case at Cafe Centrale.The famous Sachertorte with SchlagsahneApfelstrudlEsterhayzey torteand Gluhwein at the Cafe Mozart.The Christmas market in front of the Rathaus (City Hall) in Vienna was our favourite.Enjoying some gluhwein, some of us more than others!Blowing Hot Air: Ballooning in Chateau d’Oexhttps://swissblog.net/2014/02/09/blowing-hot-air-ballooning-in-chateau-doex/
https://swissblog.net/2014/02/09/blowing-hot-air-ballooning-in-chateau-doex/#respondSun, 09 Feb 2014 23:39:21 +0000http://swissblog.net/?p=1348]]>Last week I found a new way to enjoy the mountains here in Switzerland: floating 10,000 feet up in the air in a wicker basket held aloft by a sheet of nylon and a bunch of hot air. Yep, I went hot air ballooning in the Alps!

Every January since 1979, the village of Chateau d’Oex (pop. 3,000), situated in the Swiss Pre-Alps east of Fribourg, has hosted the Festival International de Ballons. Thanks to the area’s spectacular setting and favourable flying weather, the festival has become a magnet for the world’s top balloon pilots and enthusiasts. In fact, the village was the launch site for the first hot-air balloon, Breitling Orbiter 3, to circumnavigate the globe, back in 1999.

The festival features daily balloon flights starting from the village, along with demonstration events by sky-divers and para-gliders. Each day spectators can witness the launch of dozens of hot-air balloons, provided the weather and wind conditions are favourable (which they usually are at this time of year).

Balloon launch zone: a little noisy and intimidating.

While the balloon flights are open to the public (for 350 Swiss Francs each that is!), the vast majority of those who visit the festival participate with their feet planted firmly on the ground. Over the two festival weekends in particular, thousands of spectators can be found at the launch site and in the village to witness the spectacle of the colourful and whimsically decorated balloons launching into the air, which also makes the event enormously popular with amateur photographers. Some balloons fly miles up the valley, while others simply float about town, almost grazing the rooftops of the village hotels and chalets before landing in some nearby cow pasture.

Balloon next to us getting fired up.

We attended the festival last year and I had a great time taking photographs. I must have taken almost 700! All the time that we were watching, however, there was a part of me that really wanted to experience the thrill of flying in one of those balloons. It was then that I resolved to return in 2014 and do so.

January 2014 was a busy month and the festival nearly slipped under my radar before I was reminded by a local news report. A quick check of the weather forecast for the next few days sealed the deal. Tuesday, January 28th was forecast to be a perfect day for flying: blue skies, sunshine and, most importantly, no wind. The chilly -8C temperature didn’t put me off, as I had plenty of warm gear to wear. A two minute call into the festival office and I was booked! No takers in the rest of the family. Just as well considering the cost!

Launch zone from above

I showed up at the festival early on the morning of the 28th. After a short wait, which I spent watching the pilots setting up baskets and balloons and testing their propane burners, myself and 5 other passengers were escorted into the launch area to meet our pilot and balloon. It was fun to walk through the launch zone, dwarfed on all sides by a dozen or so balloons that, once inflated, were each as tall as a 5 or 6 storey apartment building. Mind you, the noise made by the propane burners, as they heated the air inside the fabric balloons (technically called “envelopes”), was loud and intimidating.

Heading up and away from the launch zone and Chateau d’Oex.

After a passenger safety briefing (e.g. soft knees for take-off and landing; no smoking or dropping things from the basket, etc.), we piled into our basket and waited with nervous anticipation while our pilot continued heating the air inside our balloon with short blasts from the burner. We joked among ourselves about the cramped conditions in the basket, a bit like standing in a small elevator at capacity.

Obligatory selfie.

And then we were airborne! Imperceptibly at first, but then more noticeably as we started to accelerate upwards and away from the launch zone. Within a minute or two all the balloons that had towered over us moments before were rapidly shrinking to the size of beachballs. Within another 5 minutes we were thousands of feet up in the air, hovering directly over the launch zone, where the remaining balloons on the ground were reduced to dots of colour against the snow.

Looking north towards Rougemont and Gstaad.

Once at our maximum altitude of about 10,000ft, we remained relatively stationary over the launch site for a while. Except for the occasional blast from the propane burner and the crackle of voices over our pilot’s radio, it was incredibly peaceful. From our vantage point, the 360 degree view of the Alps was breathtaking. Within a half hour we had been joined by approximately 40 other balloons .

Birdseye view of Chateau d’Oex

Now, you may wonder, as I did, what forces were at work to keep us aloft. Hot air balloons achieve their lift and buoyancy as a result of the temperature difference between the air on the inside and outside of the fabric of the balloon. Heating the air inside the balloon makes it lighter than the air on the outside, creating buoyant force against the fabric of the balloon. A typical balloon holds about 100,000 cubic feet of air. The amount of lift generated depends on the temperature difference between the two air masses. It is easier, therefore, to generate lift in cold climates versus hot. The air mass within a balloon is heated up to a maximum of about 120 degrees C (250F), well below the melting point for nylon fabric (phew!).

Busy skies over Chateau d’Oex

In the course of our gradual descent we drifted north of the launch site by a kilometre or so. Once we were within 500ft or so of the ground, however, we began drifting south in the direction of the launch site again. We drifted and eventually passed directly over the launch site, where still more balloons were setting up for launch.

Drifting back down towards the launch zone

We made our final approach for landing in a nearby cow pasture, with our chase vehicle conveniently parked in a lane-way beside the field. As we drifted no more than 100ft from the ground, our pilot expertly navigated us over the top of power lines, railway tracks and chalet rooftops. I could have reached out and touched the roof of the last chalet we passed over before gently landing in the soft snow. We all applauded (and were thankful for) our pilot’s skill.

Deflating and packing up the envelope.

After jumping out of the basket it was all hands on deck to help prepare the basket and balloon to be packed and loaded back onto the chase vehicle. As the air inside the envelope gradually cooled and escaped, the envelope deflated and began to lean to one side, helped by a couple of passengers pulling on a rope attached to the top. This is so that, once fully deflated, the envelope would lay stretched lengthwise on the ground, for easier packing. Once packed up into its case, and now about the size of a large beanbag chair, the envelope weighed about 150lbs. Then it was a 5 minute drive back to the village.

What a magical and unforgettable experience! At 350 Francs, perhaps not one I’ll repeat anytime soon, but still worth it!

Here are a few video clips I took during our flight:

And if you think I’m crazy, check out what these French balloonists and slackliners are doing. Now THEY are crazy!

]]>https://swissblog.net/2014/02/09/blowing-hot-air-ballooning-in-chateau-doex/feed/0glongfordChD 12Balloon launch zone: a little noisy and intimidating.Balloon next to us getting fired up.Launch zone from aboveHeading up and away from the launch zone and Chateau d'Oex.Obligatory selfie.Looking north towards Rougemont and Gstaad.Birdseye view of Chateau d'OexBusy skies over Chateau d'OexDrifting back down towards the launch zoneDeflating and packing up the envelope.ALIEN-ated in Gruyère: the frightening imagination of H.R. Gigerhttps://swissblog.net/2014/02/03/alien-ated-in-gruyere-the-frightening-imagination-of-h-r-giger/
https://swissblog.net/2014/02/03/alien-ated-in-gruyere-the-frightening-imagination-of-h-r-giger/#respondMon, 03 Feb 2014 19:16:29 +0000http://swissblog.net/?p=1299]]>If you’re an expat living in the Lausanne area and have friends and family who plan to visit, then sooner or later you will end up going to the nearby village of Gruyère … again and again … like it or not. Its charming medieval architecture, hilltop view of the bucolic countryside, abundance of fondue restaurants, and close proximity to Lausanne (40 minutes by car) make Gruyère an essential day-trip for entertaining out-of-town guests. It’s not unusual for expats to make the trip half a dozen times per year, or more.

Chateau Gruyere

Gruyere’s charming, cobblestone and pedestrian-only main street.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against Gruyère. The hilltop setting and remarkably well-preserved chateau and medieval village are like something out of a fairytale, and the pungent odour of delicious fondue (made from the famous local cheese) hangs heavy in the air. If you can look past the weekend crowds, tourist restaurants, kitschy souvenir shops and alpenhorn concerts, a visit to Gruyère can be quite charming. But after you’ve been there a half dozen times the charm starts to wear off.

Alpenhorn concert

Fortunately, for visitors in need of respite from all the Swiss charm and stinky cheese, I have just the place for you – the H.R. Giger Museum – located in the Chateau St Germain, located in the village near the top of the hill. Dedicated to the works of the Swiss surrealist artist H.R. Giger (pronouced “Gie-grr”) – the creative genius behind the the creatures and sets for the Alien movie series – the museum provides a fascinating and at times disturbing counterpoint to the wholesome, folksy charms of the rest of the village. Feeling a little alienated by Gruyère? Then step into the Giger Museum for a truly ALIEN-ating experience!

Entrance to the Giger Museum in Gruyere

Original poster for the movie Alien

Born in Chur, Switzerland in 1940, Hans Rudolph Giger studied architecture and industrial design before becoming an artist. Giger began to emerge as an artist in the 1960s, producing dark, surrealistic dreamscapes in a fantastic realist style using ink, oil, and airbrush techniques that would become his signature. Giger explains that he suffers from night-terrors and that he originally took up drawing and painting as a kind of therapy. Among his artistic influences were the painters Salvador Dali and Ernst Fuchs, as well as the American horror fiction writer H.P. Lovecraft.

One of Giger’s large airbrush canvasses

Central to Giger’s artistic vision is the melding of flesh and technology, most often realized in large-format oil and airbrush paintings featuring nude, almost cyborg-like female figures erotically entwined in machinery. The museum collection includes a handful of these large paintings. Some viewers find Giger’s work shocking and the museum even includes an “adults only” room displaying his most explicit works.

The melding of flesh and machine – Giger’s biomechanics – is evident in this painting (not in the museum collection)

What strikes me about Giger’s erotic subject matter, however, is the absence of the representation of pleasure on the part of the figures in his paintings. There is a drone-like automatism to the interconnection between bodies and machines represented in his paintings, which is accentuated by the monochromatic grey and black colour palate that dominates his work. Giger himself referred to his works as “biomechanical,” which seems fitting for the bloodless interactions between flesh and machine depicted in his paintings. There is also something involuntary, even coercive, in the way that the figures are connected to and penetrated by various cables, tubes etc., as if there is no way to extricate themselves. Giger’s is a dark and disturbing vision indeed, and yet some of these works are hauntingly beautiful. No doubt Giger is commenting on our growing dependence upon and involvement with technology as well.

Giger at work with his airbrush

A series of Giger’s illustrations published in book form as Necronomicon in 1977 caught the attention of film director Ridley Scott, who was looking for a creative team to work on the film Alien. One illustration in particular, Necronom IV, provided an early glimpse of what the creature in the film would eventually look like.

H.R. Giger: Necromicon IV

Giger was hired by Scott and, along with a creative team, designed the Alien monster, as well as the various incarnations of its offspring, including the “facehugger” and the “chestbuster”. The museum’s collection features a number of Giger’s original drawings and models for these creatures. In addition, Giger and his team did design work for the interior of the derelict spaceship found at the beginning of the film.

One of Giger’s models for the Alien.

The character “Ripley”, played by Sigourney Weaver, and a memorable encounter with the Alien.

I had my own encounter with the Alien.

So stunning and memorable was their work that Giger and his team won the Academy Award for Best Achievement for Visual Effects in 1980. Giger would continue to work in film, producing artwork and concepts for Alien III, Poltergeist II and a film production of Dune that never came to fruition.

The museum’s collection includes some original Giger drawings as well. This one was for Alien III.

Giger’s Oscar statuette.

The museum collection also features sculpture, furniture designs, and other artifacts from his career, such as the Oscar he received in 1980, as well as his own personal art collection. A personal favourite of mine is a long rectangular table and set of chairs done in black acrylic, which looks like a dining room set for a family of his Aliens.

Alien conference table or dining room room set.

Apparently Giger does patio furniture too!

Giger enjoyed a very busy artistic career through the 70s, 80 and 90s. He was a regularly featured artist in Omni magazine, and he did LP cover art and posters on commission for musicians such as the Dead Kennedys (which landed Giger in court on obscenity charges), Korn, Emerson Lake & Palmer and Blondie. He also provided graphic designs for a line of guitars by Ibanez.

One of Giger’s designs for a line of electric guitars for the manufacturer Ibanez.

Giger bought the Chateau St Germain in Gruyère back in 1998, which eventually became a museum devoted to displaying his works. I’m not sure what his connection to Gruyère is, or why he bought the Chateau St Germain in the first place, but it is certainly a prime location with lots of tourist traffic, ensuring that his work gets lots of exposure. At 74 and now living in Zurich, he remains an active artist and has been featured in international solo retrospective exhibitions around the world in recent years.

The Giger Bar

No visit to Giger’s Gruyère would be complete without venturing into the Giger Bar just across the cobblestones from the museum. Based on designs originally intended for a bar in Tokyo, the Giger Bar features interiors and furniture designed by Giger himself and inspired by his work on Alien. The bar is a dark space, with striking vertebrae-like structures arcing across the ceiling, giving the space a macabre, cathedral-like feel. One also has the sense of being inside the belly of giant beast.

Panoramic of the Giger Bar interior.

Giger Bar interior

The Giger-designed chairs, while not particularly comfortable, have a similarly skeletal, organic appearance. It’s the perfect place to grab a drink or two while your guests tour the Chateau de Gruyère (which you’ve seen a dozen times already), or to steel your nerves before venturing into the Giger Museum itself.

Checking out the seating at the Giger Bar.

Whether a first-time visitor or jaded repeat tour-guide, the Giger Museum and Bar are not to be missed. A warning though, perhaps not appropriate for young children or sensitive adults.

Perhaps not appropriate for children?

Here’s a video clip of a Swiss actress touring the museum for a local news show. Check out her facial expressions as tours the exhibits!

]]>https://swissblog.net/2014/02/03/alien-ated-in-gruyere-the-frightening-imagination-of-h-r-giger/feed/0glongfordChateau GruyereGruyere's charming, cobblestone and pedestrian-only main street.Alpenhorn concertEntrance to the Giger Museum in GruyereOriginal poster for the movie AlienOne of Giger's large airbrush canvassesThe melding of flesh and machine - Giger's biomechanics - is evident in this painting (not in the museum collection)Giger at work with his airbrushH.R. Giger: Necromicon IVOne of Giger's models for the Alien. The "Rip", played by Sigourny Weaver, and a memorable encounter with the Alien.I had my own encounter with the Alien.The museum's collection includes some original Giger drawings as well. This one was for Alien III.Giger and his creative team's Oscar statuette.Alien conference table or dining room room set.Giger does patio furniture?One of Giger's designs for a line of electric guitars for the manufacturer Ibanez.The Giger BarPanoramic of the Giger Bar interior.Giger Bar interiorChecking out the seating at the Giger Bar.Perhaps not appropriate for children?